Miles In His Shoes
by Goody
Summary: A gang war has been brewing in the suburbs of Vegas and the first two murders have just occurred. As the CSIs investigate, Greg gets pulled into the conflict and the crossfire. [Chapter 5 up]
1. How You Get There

Hello everyone! Well, I'm back, with more Greg goodness for you all to enjoy. I know I've been away for awhile but I hear that absence makes the heart grow fonder, so you should all be very fond of me.

Disclaimer: I do not own any thing CSI related, except the merchandise I bought and that's mine I tell you! All mine!

Rating: M or R, whatever. The high rating is because of some excessive swearing later from our bad guys.

Category: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, H/C, really, what else do I write?

Anyway, I'll let you get to my latest fic. The first chapter is pretty much just plot set up, but trust me, every chapter after this shall be pretty intense and I'm quite excited about it. So please enjoy …

Miles in his Shoes

By Goody

Gil Grissom couldn't help but smile a little, at least to himself, as he entered the break room, despite the two homicide investigation assignments he had to hand out, because for the first time in a long time there wasn't a free space at the table. Sara and Catherine were next to each other at the end of the table, seemingly in serious conversation when they were actually discussing an addictive soap opera they both watched, and leaned as far away as possible from the immature boys on the other end. Warrick and Nick sat beside each other near the end of the table, both had paper footballs set for kickoff with Greg's hands making a goal post across the table.

"Ready, aim … fire!" Greg announced, drawing out the last command for effect. Nick and Warrick both flicked their footballs across the table, and Warrick cheered in victory as Nick's ball fell short and his went straight, consequently hitting Greg square in the forehead.

Everyone turned and laughed as Greg rubbed his head.

"Ow," he complained lightly, but all he received was mock sympathy in the form of a lip pout from Sara.

"You poor thing, maybe next time they'll let you play instead of just being the post," she teased.

Greg offered a fake laugh in return and then everyone's attention was drawn to the doorway, where Grissom had cleared his throat as he shook his head.

"That's a good way to scratch a cornea," Grissom lectured.

Nick huffed, "You know you could just go with the classic, you'll poke someone's eye out doing that."

"No, I would only say that if it were true. It'd be physically impossible for either of you to hit those with enough force to knock out Greg's eye," Grissom pointed out.

Warrick and Nick exchanged a glance, as though they were being challenged.

"We could test that out you know," Nick suggested casually, as if it would make a good experiment for later.

"Not with these eyes you won't," Greg replied, pushing his chair away so they wouldn't get any ideas.

"Nah, and ruin that perfect 20-20 vision of yours?" Warrick brushed off the idea. "Hodges, his eyes'd pop out like nothing, they're already damn shifty after all."

Everyone smiled at the thought and then gave their attention back to Grissom, who had their assignments. Strangely enough, he was smiling as well, for a different reason.

It was good to have the team back together.

Too bad their first night back he had to split them up.

"Okay people, down to business, we've got two homicide investigations, a double and a single. Catherine, Sara, Warrick, you've got the single," Grissom said, handing Catherine the assignment sheet.

"Loughlin, great, a long drive is just what I need to wake me up," she muttered as she then handed the sheet to Warrick.

"Seventy year old male. We're sure it's not natural causes?" Warrick asked, not wanting to drive all the way to Loughlin if they weren't sure a crime had been committed.

"The bloody footprints through the house seem to indicate otherwise, according to the arriving officer," Grissom replied, and the three accepted this as making the case definitely worthy of investigation.

"Nick, Greg, you're with me, double murder in Harcant," Grissom continued.

Nick cringed and nodded, "Shooting?"

"Yeah," Grissom replied.

Greg's brow furrowed, "How'd you know that?"

"It's not the safest neighbourhood in the world, and I heard through the grapevine that there's some kind of mini gang war going on down there. Cops keep getting domestic calls, far as I know this is the first murder," Nick explained and Grissom nodded in confirmation.

"Brass said he'll fill us in when we get there. I'll meet you in the parking lot," Grissom said as he started to leave, then turned around at the last second and added, "Nicky, why don't you take Greg in your car."

"Yeah, I can do that," Nick agreed and again Greg was confused.

"Hey, I've got my own car," he protested, inwardly praying he wouldn't be stuck in Nick's SUV with its god awful preset country radio stations.

"We probably want to keep the amount of cars we bring down to a minimum," Nick pointed out, trying to sugarcoat the situation as much as possible. "Last time we went to Harcant one got stolen."

"Someone stole a police car from a crime scene?" Greg asked incredulously, thinking they were just pulling his leg, teasing the rookie, but Nick didn't back down.

"It was unmarked, parked kind of far from the scene, they might not have known it was a cop car," Nick theorized. "They found it stripped a few hours later."

"Oh."

Suddenly leaving his baby … uh, car, at the lab sounded like the best idea Greg had heard all day.

As they all got up to leave, Warrick patted Greg on the back, "Have fun."

"Thanks," Greg mumbled through gritted teeth.

"Come on, you'll be fine," Nick promised as they headed towards the locker room.

A few minutes later Greg was slipping on his Forensics vest when the sound of a safety clicking off made him turn his head. He couldn't help but stare as Nick took his gun out of his locker, checked to make sure it was loaded and then clipped it into his holster.

Nick easily noticed Greg watching and shook his head, "I know you don't _need_ to have one as a level 1, but you should really consider getting a sidearm Greg. We can find ourselves in some … uneasy situations in this job."

Greg knew what he meant, had heard all too many horror stories from those CSIs above him about being fired upon, and Hodges's constant taunting didn't help either, but he still shook his head adamantly, "No, it'd be kind of pointless. I'd never be able to handle it, and it's not like I could ever shoot someone."

"I never have either, but I've drawn my weapon a few times," Nick explained, "Helps to control a situation."

"Seems like a good way to _escalate_ a situation to me," Greg pointed out, picking up his kit and closing his locker.

"Yeah, I guess it can do that too," Nick agreed, and knew by the way that Greg immediately turned for the door that the subject should be dropped. Greg wasn't comfortable around guns and wanted to leave it at that.

When they got to the parking lot and into Nick's car Greg immediately started eyeing the radio, wondering if there was any way he could subtly flick the station over, but Nick didn't give him any chance. As soon as the car started the radio came to life and some Gretchen woman was twanging away about keeping her Christmas lights up all year. Greg sighed and when Nick was focussed on backing out of the parking lot his hand desperately started to reach for the dial, but Nick wouldn't have it.

"You touch that radio and you're walking Greg," he threatened without even turning around from looking behind him.

"Nick, this music pains me. You see this face, despite its boyish good looks, this is the face of pain," Greg pleaded as he reached for the wonderfully close volume knob.

"Well you'll be in a lot more pain if you change it, not to mention the pain I'll be in. I can't stand that crap you like, it splits my eardrums," Nick told him.

"You sound like my Dad," Greg replied, hoping he could make Nick feel substantially uncool and self conscious enough to want to be hip and listen to some alternative rock.

"Then at least your Dad probably has some decent taste in music."

That backfired, thought Greg as he slouched down in his seat and tried to drown out the music by focussing on the Vegas sights. It worked for awhile and Greg got caught up in the lights and billboards, at least until the lights and billboards started to disappear. As Nick drove there were less and less buildings and more and more homes that got more rundown as they went. Soon they were in a badly graffitied neighborhood driving slowly through barely lit streets, watching out for pedestrians and the police lights that would tell them they were in the right place. The streets were practically empty – clearly people knew better than to be out late at night in this neighborhood.

With a shudder, Greg realized they had just passed the alley on D street where he had found the emaciated body of a five-year-old boy in a Rubbermaid container, and then almost been shot at a few seconds later. He could still remember the bone numbing fear as he heard those shots and just dropped, scrambling behind a dumpster, knowing it wasn't very safe to be an unarmed law enforcement officer in a destitute, urban neighborhood where almost everyone sporting gang colors could be guaranteed to be carrying a gun.

The thought of gang colors reminded Greg about something Nick had mentioned earlier.

"So, what's this about a gang war down here? I thought the cops cleaned up Vegas and broke all the gangs up," Greg asked fishing into his quickly growing police knowledge.

"Yeah, well they broke up the big gangs like the Snakebacks, the ones that were causing major problems in the strip and affecting tourism rates, but it's hard to patrol out here in the rural areas. This neighborhood's been mostly black for awhile but now there's a lot of Mexicans moving in and apparently people just aren't getting along and things are getting territorial."

"It's not like there's much to fight over," Greg muttered, seeing only dilapidated buildings and broken sidewalks everywhere.

Nick shrugged and continued, "People will always protect what they feel is theirs, Greg. So tension's been building the last few months. Cops have been out here breaking up fights between the two sides, petty stuff too, cars, girls, who's got the rightful claim to the basketball court, stuff like that. Once or twice it was over drugs. A guy got stabbed last week but survived, this'll be the first killing if it's related to the same thing. Really sad thing about it all is that it's not even just gang against gang, it's about people not being willing to trust other people and paranoia leading to violence. Chances are things are going to keep escalating too, unless the cops can cap this thing," Nick replied at length.

As Nick rambled about drugs and stabbings and killings, Greg felt more and more uncomfortable and anxious. The neighborhood they were in already made him nervous enough - after all, if even the people who lived here knew not to come out at night, what chance would he have if something happened? – and he knew his nervousness was mostly because he wasn't exactly overflowing with street smarts. Growing up in a wealthy family in a safe neighborhood in San Francisco hadn't exactly street proofed him for tougher areas. Even when he had interned briefly in New York he had stayed away from neighborhoods like this, knowing he had no business in them because he didn't know how to take care of himself, at least not physically. He was pretty sure he could talk his way out of almost anything, but there were no words that could stop a bullet or a sneak attack in an alleyway and he was suddenly very aware of his own lack of physical protection.

He didn't have any kind of hand to hand training, he wasn't armed and he wasn't exactly the most intimidating person of all time, in size or appearance.

He looked over at Nick, someone who never had to worry about physical safety – unless of course he was being stalked by a madman, or locked in a coffin. No wonder the Texan worked so hard to be physically intimidating, he was trying to repel all those people who seemed to continuously want to hurt him, Greg realized. But no matter what the reason, the effect was the same. There were few suspects in their right mind that would try to take on Nick in a fight, hell, he even looked like a cop. Square jaw, huge build, even if he wasn't all that tall, armed and never backing down, that was Nick's style. He could get straight to the point of matters because he knew no one could argue with him, because he would win. Greg couldn't say the same.

None of his recent attempts to add extra muscle to his light build had worked as of late and the new blazers and button ups he had been wearing to work, mixed in with the remnants of his spiked hairstyle, made him probably the least intimidating law enforcement officer of all time. Hell, even those kids had run away from him in that alley a few blocks behind him, even knowing he was police officer. And he knew they wouldn't have run away from Nick, they would have been too scared of the consequences because Nick could be intimidating when he wanted to be and demanded respect and attention.

"Here we go. Make sure you lock the door," Nick instructed, breaking Greg out of his thoughts as they pulled into a parking lot. As Greg got out he saw that they seemed to be at the border of where the neighborhood started to meld into Vegas again, since they were parked in front of a Motel with a pool hall across the street. He grabbed his kit, locked the door and followed Nick under the police tape.

"Hey Nick, Greg," Brass greeted them, opening up his notepad to read off what they knew so far. "We got two male DBs, African American, late twenties, multiple bullet wounds each, hotel manager called it in."

"How long ago?" Greg enquired.

Brass checked his notes again, "A little over an hour."

"Scene should be fresh, that helps. What room?" Nick asked, wanting to get to work.

"213," Brass answered, pointing to the second level.

"All right, let's go Greggo," Nick said leading the way.

"Yeah coming … uh, give me a sec," Greg requested, backtracking when he looked at the pavement a few feet away. "I'll cover down here first."

"Sure, meet you up there," Nick replied, willing to let Greg do discovery on his own.

Brass followed behind Greg as he knelt down and touched a gloved hand to the burnt pavement.

"These skid marks are fresh, someone peeled out of here in a hurry," Greg noted.

"Well, manager said there were four shots and then skidding tires, by the time he got around here the car was gone though, he didn't even get the color let alone the make," Brass explained.

"Hopefully we'll be able to match the treads, might come up with something distinctive," Greg commented, then headed back to Nick's car to get the camera tripod so he could properly photograph the treadmarks.

In room 213 Nick found Grissom already sweeping the dingy hotel room with his mag-lite as David knelt next to one of the bodies. Both DBs were lying with their feet facing the door, with two bullets in each of their chests. One was right in front of the door with the other propped up partially by the second double bed, apparently having been sitting on the first bed when he was shot and then falling.

"Why do I get the feeling this wasn't a domestic dispute?" Nick asked as he snapped on his gloves.

"I've got a white substance on the sidetable, could be cocaine," Grissom announced as he pushed the evidence into a brown paper pouch.

"So you're thinking drug deal gone bad."

"Possibly. I won't jump to any conclusions just yet. This could be sugar for all we know," Grissom pointed out, not having tested the substance yet.

"Yeah, that's likely," Nick muttered sarcastically, shining his own light over the two DBs who were obviously gang-members with their matching tattoos and bandanas.

"Where's Greg?" Grissom asked.

"The parking lot with Brass, he found some skid marks, he's logging them," Nick answered as he opened up his kit, "I'll start printing."

Grissom nodded and left him to begin coating the room with fine black powder.

As Nick fingerprinted and Grissom searched for trace in the motel room, Greg finished photographing and logging the skid marks in front of the building.

"Got anything good?" Brass asked, walking over after interviewing a few hotel guests who had seen nothing.

"These treads are pretty clean, should be able to get a match back at the lab no problem, that spiral pattern is pretty distinctive. I don't suppose this place has a security camera, make my job a little easier," Greg asked hopefully, already knowing the answer as he looked around the dingy parking lot.

"Just in the front desk," Brass answered having already checked. "It doesn't see much other than the cash register."

Greg nodded, not surprised, as he loaded his equipment back into Nick's car. A place like this would pride itself on secrecy and privacy for its less than savory clients, it was no surprise there was no surveillance. Just as he was about to put the camera tripod away an idea struck him though and instead of walking back towards the hotel to help out Grissom and Nick, he started in the other direction towards the road. The streetlights were dim, but with his mag-lite the street was bright enough for him to find what he was looking for.

After all the incidents they seemed to be having with CSIs at crime scenes lately, Brass made sure to keep a close eye on Greg and joined him when he saw the young CSI processing the road outside the crime scene tape. Greg was standing in the middle of the two way street - when you pulled out of the hotel you had to turn left or right, there was no option to go straight ahead – examining the ground.

"What do you got Sanders?" Brass asked as he approached.

"Well, judging by the tire treads in the parking lot, our suspect must have really revved it when he pulled out, meaning he probably skidded when he turned out here too," Greg explained, pointing out the second set of skidmarks. "Same spiral pattern."

"So, we know he sped out and then turned left," Brass said, judging from the angle of the treads.

"Looks that way," Greg agreed, then looked to see if there was anything noteworthy down that road. The first thing he saw was a bright yellow sign indicating an all night convenience store that the car would have had to drive by if it had indeed turned left and kept going.

Smiling, Greg turned to Brass and asked, "Feel like a snack?"

Brass wasn't amused but had a patrolman accompany him to the convenience store.

Inside the hotel David finished rifling through the pockets of their two DBs.

"Clarence Matthews and Jamal Turner," he announced, reading their IDs. "Liver temp confirms they've been dead a little over an hour."

"Thanks David," Grissom said absently as he ran the ALS over the second set of bedsheets and sighed at the array of illuminated spots.

Across the room Nick cringed, "Man, I hate processing scenes like this. It's impossible to know what evidence was left by our shooter and what was left last month. Places like this don't exactly get a regular cleaning."

It was true, the scene was unusually dirty. The sheets were a myriad of biological samples of different degrees, every inch of the place was covered in somebody's fingerprints and there was a feeling of grime coating everything.

"Well, this cigarette butt looks fresh," Grissom pointed out optimistically as he sniffed the stub he took out of the ashtray.

"Either of those guys got cigarette packs on them?" Nick asked, indicating their dead bodies.

"None that I found," David replied.

Grissom raised an eyebrow as he bagged the cigarette, "Then this could belong to our suspect. It would confirm that these two knew their killer; they obviously weren't trying to run when they were shot."

Meanwhile, up the road, Greg and the patrolman entered Maury's Quik-way to see if they could recover any evidence. There was a lone cashier behind the counter who had already been standing at the door when they pulled in, trying to see what the commotion was up the road.

When they came in the young man moved back behind the counter, shifting with nervousness at the sight of cops. When Greg walked up to the counter, the cashier seemed all too eager to please.

"Hi there, I'm Greg Sanders, I'm with the LVPD, this is Officer Marko. Can I ask you a few questions?" Greg asked after flashing his ID.

"Yeah, sure I guess. Is it about what's going on at the Morada, cause I don't know anything about that. I don't even know what went down," the cashier said, immediately defensive.

"Look, uh …"

"Zack."

"Zack, we can't discuss an ongoing investigation, but we just want to ask you a few questions in case you heard or saw something that maybe didn't seem related at the time. Have you been working alone all night?" Greg asked, taking out his notepad.

"Yeah, it's just been me since nine," Zack replied.

"Okay, and did you hear or see anything unusual around say eleven?"

"Not really, heard a lot of folks yelling, couple people ran up the street, then the cops started showing up," Zack said rather generally.

"Did you hear a car skid and then speed by, by any chance?" Greg asked, knowing he was pushing it a little.

"Nah, not that I remember."

"What about security? You got any cameras in here?" Greg asked, already having spotted one over the register.

"In this neighborhood, you better believe it. We got three in the store and one in the parking lot. The place keeps getting tagged, I've had to scrub down the windows at least a dozen times, cops don't do much about it," Zack explained, pointing to the several visible cameras.

"All right, I'm gonna have to see those tapes," Greg stated, not really requesting but ordering as a cop would.

"I don't really know how to do that. I'll have to call my manager," Zack said, unsure what he was supposed to do.

"That's fine," Greg replied as he settled in to wait for the man he assumed would be named Maury to come give him the surveillance tapes he needed.

Thankfully Maury had heard about the shooting at the Morada and had been on his way to the store anyway to make sure everything was all right. He was cooperative enough about giving Greg what he needed, but like Zack complained about the lack of a police presence in the area to help defend his poor windows from gang tags.

"Well, unfortunately I think you're going to have more cops than you know what to do with around here soon enough. Let's just hope they won't be necessary. Thanks for these, I'll get them back to you as soon as possible," Greg promised as he bagged and labeled the tapes from the back room. He had seen the cameras filming for a few seconds when Maury was getting them for him and saw the quality was grainy and hoped he could enhance the picture back at the lab.

Officer Marko stayed with him until he was back behind the tape at the original crime scene and after stashing the tapes in Nick's car he finally made his way to room 213, a good hour after they had actually arrived.

"Hey, sorry I got sidetracked. Did I miss anything?" Greg asked as he came in.

"Only just about all of the collection. What were you doing out there?" Nick questioned, having been getting slightly worried when the young CSI was gone for so long.

"The tire treads in the parking lot indicate our suspect turned left when he hightailed it out of here. So I went to the convenience store down the road that he would have had to drive by. One of the parking lot cameras has a partial view of the road, I'm hoping it may have caught the getaway car. I had to wait for the manager to come and get me the tapes though," Greg explained, kneeling next to Nick to watch him pick up a discarded piece of paper from behind the bedside table.

"Sounds good, nice job," Nick commented as he carefully unfolded the paper.

"Thanks. What is that?"

"I don't know. It feels thick like the really old kind of notepad paper. C_S, 11 PM, 5000 for 5_," Nick read aloud what was written on the paper.

"And that means?" Greg asked.

"Well, 11 pm was the approximate time of the murder, so maybe CS is whoever these guys were meeting to sell their junk to," Nick hypothesized, bagging the evidence.

"Junk? We thinking drug deal now?"

Nick nodded, "Yeah, Grissom found some cocaine residue on the table, no sign of the drugs or the money so the killer most likely got greedy and left with both."

"Makes sense. Where is Grissom?"

"Bathroom," Nick answered, pointing behind him. Greg got up and inched his way across the room, careful of any blood smears, and knocked lightly as a joke before he stepped into the bathroom.

"Hey, I got some video surveillance from a convenience store down the street, might have caught the getaway car. Do you need me for anything in here?" Greg asked, not even phased to find Grissom fingerprinting a toilet bowl lid.

"Good, we're pretty much done here. Why don't you and Nick head back and start processing. I'll finish up in here and meet you back at the lab," Grissom instructed.

"You're the boss," Greg said as he headed back into the first room. "Hey Nick, Gris says that since we've been so well behaved we can go back to the lab and start processing."

"Well, lucky us. Maybe we'll get a gold star too," Nick answered, joking just as sarcastically.

"Yeah right, just try tearing them away from Sara," Greg whispered as he took a few evidence bags from Nick.

The Texan laughed as he packed up his kit and followed Greg back into the parking lot.

"So, you think those surveillance tapes are going to pan out?" Nick asked as he waved to the duty cop when they again passed under the police tape to leave the scene.

"Have to wait and see back at the lab. Even if they did catch a glimpse of the car, the quality's pretty poor, it may not be helpful," Greg replied, trying not to get too hopeful about his evidence.

"Could be worse; at least you won't be scanning fingerprints for the next hour. I swear, every inch of that room had a print on it," Nick complained, bringing up again how annoying hotels were as crime scenes.

"Deal with it sunshine, it's part of the job," Greg said, oddly smug.

"Isn't that supposed to be my line, mister level one?"

"Guess I'm just a fast learner, faster than you are anyway," Greg teased, still smiling.

Nick was about to reply when he noticed the smile and realized what it meant as he finally heard that they had been listening to My Chemical Romance for a few minutes now – Greg had switched the radio station without Nick even noticing.

Of course, Nick immediately switched the radio back to something with a little more twang, but that didn't erase the triumphant smirk still on Greg's face.

When they got back to the lab the two CSIs made their way to the locker room to slip into their lab coats, agreed to update each other on their break and then went their separate ways, Nick to scan a stack of fingerprints from the scene and Greg to try and find an image of a getaway car that was clear enough to give them a lead.

In one of the smaller audio/visual labs Greg popped in the first surveillance tape, knowing the camera from the convenience store parking lot that saw some of the road was most likely his only chance to catch a glimpse of their car, and possibly their suspects. The hotel manager had called 911 at about 11:08, so Greg rewound the tape to ten to eleven, just in case there was a discrepancy in the time.

Half of the picture showed the small parking lot in front of the store, as filmed by a camera above the door, and just beyond that was a surprisingly clear shot of the road. Greg sat and watched – there were no cars in the lot and no traffic whatsoever – but then sure enough, at 11:04 a single car drove by, going way over the speed limit. He resisted the urge to rewind and enhance the footage and instead watched for ten more minutes, seeing no other speeding cars, just people on foot racing up the road to see what had happened, and then several cop cars.

Satisfied, Greg rewound and then paused the tape, freezing the image of what was almost assuredly their killer's getaway car.

"Nice," he commented to himself as he leaned in closer to the screen. It looked like a '67 Impala, not a bad ride at all and seemed to be in good condition from the little he could see. "It's a shame for a car that sweet to be wasted on a murderer."

He saved the image and was about to try and enhance it but looking across the hall he saw that Archie didn't look too busy in the main lab, and decided that a little expertise wouldn't hurt in the matter. Quickly strolling across the hall he peaked his head into the room.

"Hey Arch, you busy?" Greg asked suddenly. Apparently it was too suddenly for Archie who scrambled to close the window of the Stargate Message Board he had been posting on before anyone saw.

"Uh, nothing pressing," he mumbled in response, bringing up a screen that could possibly look like work.

Greg laughed as he took a seat next to the lab tech, not caring that he was goofing off, it was what labrats did when there was nothing to process.

"Good, I got a surveillance image I need enhanced, very fresh. I saved it on the server," Greg replied, pointing to the proper file on the screen. Archie opened it up and cringed a little.

"Grainy," he commented.

"Yeah, I know. I'd like to get a shot of the driver if possible, but at the very least I need the license plate," Greg explained, hoping for one of Archie's miracles.

"Well, the plates shouldn't be a problem," Arch commented, hitting a few buttons that immediately started tightening the pixels to improve the quality of the picture. When it got a little clearer Archie cropped and enlarged the back bumper of the car. "It only got the last three letters – QRB."

"That should be enough to get the RO. It's obviously an Impala, so I can narrow it down from there," Greg said, pleased with his work thus far and thankful for Archie's help. "What about the driver, can you get a shot of him?"

Archie ran through the stills Greg had saved and tried to get a clear picture of the front seat, but it was useless. He shook his head, "Nah, the angle's never quite right to see his face, and his head's turned when we would have got a side profile."

"Wait, what's that? Go back," Greg requested, spotting something in the last frame. It was one of the last images, taken just as the car was leaving the scope of the camera.

"There?" Archie asked, pointing to the front seat.

"Yeah, I know we can't see the face but can you clear it up a bit?" Greg asked, unsure of what he was looking at.

"I can try," Archie replied and after a few more keystrokes the pixels tightened once more.

"Huh," Greg uttered in surprise, "There's two people in that car."

Archie nodded, agreeing, "Yeah, definitely, you can see the back of two separate heads. Looks like the driver is wearing a red bandana or visor, can't make out anything on the passenger."

"So there could have been two shooters," Greg hypothesized, trying to put this new evidence into context.

"Unlikely," a voice suddenly announced from the doorway. Greg and Archie spun around to see Grissom coming in, obviously having heard Greg's last comment. "I just came from ballistics, all four bullets were from the same gun. One shooter."

"Well I've got some surveillance footage here that says there were two people in the getaway car," Greg replied, indicating the screen. Grissom came in further and looked for himself and nodded.

"So it would seem. Perhaps we have a killer and a getaway driver," Grissom theorized for himself, then asked, "Did you find anything else?"

"Yeah," Greg was quick to answer, pleased with his work, "Got a partial license plate, was just about to run it."

"Good work, let me know what you find, I'll be with Doc Robbins," Grissom announced, quickly leaving again to attend the autopsies of their victims.

"Sure thing," Greg promised and then stood up himself to go and track down the owner of the car. "Thanks Arch, have fun on your geek forums."

"They're not …" Archie started to protest but then realized the futility and opened his browser once more. "Never mind, good luck on your case."

"Thanks," Greg said again and then almost lingered behind to chat. He hadn't really talked to Archie in awhile, certainly not like he had when he was still in DNA, or even just training, and he suddenly felt slightly nostalgic for his labrat days. Sure his work in the lab had become stale and repetitive to him, but he had worked with good people, when he worked at all. He processed DNA so quickly it was hard for some CSIs to give him enough samples to keep him busy and he had had a lot of time to relax and hang out. But he wasn't a lab tech anymore, he reminded himself as he stepped into the hall, denying his urge to catch up with his former fellow labrat. He was working on a case, and it was hot, still only a few hours old, and if the plates weren't stolen or fakes then he would have a huge lead any second now and that wasn't something he could shove aside for a few minutes. Those two dead men in the morgue deserved better, even if they had been gang members and drug dealers, justice still had to be served.

As he quickly moved into a computer lab and entered his password into the police records archive, he wondered when he had gotten so righteous. At first, this job had been about the challenge, about learning new things and working out in the field, not being bored and stuck inside the lab all day. But as time went by, Greg found he was really starting to care. Cases were affecting him in ways he hadn't imagined and some even got personal. He knew if he wasn't careful he could become obsessed like Sara, and though he admired her passion, he didn't really want that to happen. He got too little sleep as it was.

When he snapped out of his thoughts he realized the browser had opened to search the DMV records. He entered his search criteria: license plate - QRB, model – Chevy Impala, then hit find.

The answer was almost instantaneous and he smiled as the page refreshed.

One result found.

That's why he loved this job, the rush of bagging the bad guy, and he had just found their first big lead to take this one down.

TBC

Whew, that was a long first chapter. Hope you all enjoyed it and will stick around for the second one when things get interesting.

Oh, and HelenLouise, I know I said this fic would be called The Journey but then I realized that my other fic was Painful Journeys and I didn't want anyone to think this was a sequel or anything so I changed it.

Anyway, talk to you all later, please let me know what you think thus far. Later days, Goody.


	2. Getting Away

I don't suppose anyone is interested in a little chapter two are they? Really? No one? No one at all? Oh, yes, you in the back! You would like a second chapter? Well lucky you, here it is! Oh, and please forgive that I know absolutely nothing about cars and made up everything about the car conversation.

Thanks so much to reviewers, you are personally thanked at the end, and I hope this begins to meet your angst standards. Enjoy.

Miles in his Shoes

By Goody

After a quick scan of the registered owner's information and then printing the page, Greg popped the sheets into a folder and then went in search of Grissom.

Apparently the supervisor hadn't found out too much from Doc Robbins because he was already back from the medical examiner's. Peaking into the print lab Greg saw him helping Nick scan in all of the fingerprints they had found at the hotel room. Upon spotting them both Greg immediately slowed his pace and walked casually into the room, smiling as he stood on his tiptoes to peer at the computer screen over Nick's shoulders.

"So, you get anything yet?" Greg asked, sounding curious but also like he was hiding something of his own.

"Oh, hey Greg, no, nothing concrete. A couple of names have popped out but they've pretty much all got rap sheets, and don't seem connected, so it's hard to know who might have actually been there and whose prints are old," Nick explained.

"I see, I see. So would the name and address of the getaway car's owner help any?" Greg asked, knowing the answer as he tossed the folder onto the table and waited to see who would scoop it up first. On this occasion Grissom was faster and leafed through the few pages of information.

"Miguel Sanchez," Grissom read aloud. "22, sealed juvenile record, just got off probation for several minor robbery charges."

"And he lives in Harcant," Greg added when his supervisor stopped reading aloud.

Grissom nodded at this, "Nicky, do we have any prints yet matching a Miguel Sanchez?"

Nick checked his list of matched prints, "No, not yet, that doesn't mean much though, we're not even half done with these."

"All right, I'll keep on them and let you know if anything significant pops out. I think Brass will want to pay a visit to Mister Sanchez. Why don't you and Greg go with him?" Grissom asked, the offer being his way of showing that Greg had done a good job.

"Sweet," Greg replied enthusiastically. For some reason, he loved talking to suspects. It was actually kind of strange because he was very often nervous dealing with new forms of evidence in case he somehow handled them wrong, but he was very relaxed and comfortable confronting suspects, some of which were killers or rapists. Perhaps it was because it was what he really wanted, meeting the bad guy and putting him away – after all that was the rush that had drawn him to the job in the first place when he had helped put away that shady coin dealer – but it also may have just been the fact that he was good with people. Greg was a good talker, everyone knew that, and he wondered if that wasn't another reason Grissom was letting him go. After all, Grissom wasn't exactly known for being a people person himself.

Either way, Greg was more than happy to accompany Nick and eagerly followed him out the door after a brief good-bye wave to Grissom.

"Hope he has fun with all those prints," Greg commented, a hint of teasing in his voice.

Nick shook his head and mumbled good naturedly, "You make one ID and you think you're CSI 2.0."

"No, I think I'm CSI not-stuck-in-the-lab, and that's enough for me," Greg said, reaching the door to the locker room first.

"Well Mr. Anti-lab, I'll meet you in the station."

A few minutes later Greg was waiting in the hallway of the police station. Nick had gone to find Brass and explain their new lead in the case. Greg knew he wouldn't be gone long, Brass was always quick to talk to a suspect, find flaws in their stories and bring them in. He was never one to leave a case hanging open if it could be helped. But as Greg waited he drifted towards the Remembrance Wall. He didn't think that was what it was really called but that's the name he had given it in his own head and he felt it was appropriate as it listed all the officers that had been killed in the line of duty. Looking up and down the black surface he read over some of the names.

Lieutenant Michael Walters

Detective Logan Pierce

Detective Marie Skeller

CSI Holly Gribbs

He stopped on that one. She was the only CSI on the whole wall, even though Greg knew they had come close to losing almost everyone at least once. Sara had been threatened by a mental patient, he had been blown up in his lab, Nick had come close several times, hell, even Grissom had been stupid and went to confront Sid Goggle without a gun or backup. But Holly was the only one to ever die. It brought a strange kind of reality to the job, he thought. It wasn't just playing with new technology and putting away the bad guys, this work was real and dirty and unfortunately, sometimes bad things happened to good people.

For some reason, Greg's mind kept floating back to Nick cocking his gun in the locker room, fully prepared to use it.

Sometimes Greg wondered if he fully understood what he had gotten into with this work.

"Greg, you ready?" Nick asked, Brass standing just behind him, checking his holster of all things, as if subtly reminding Greg that this was serious. They were on their way to one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Vegas to interview a murder suspect and there was no room for fooling around.

Greg took one final look at the Remembrance Wall, ran his hand over Holly's name, even though they had never met, then nodded.

"Yeah, let's go."

* * *

Twenty minutes later Greg found himself staring out the window of Brass's car, watching the same streets pass by that he had seen only a few hours ago when they first came out to the crime scene. He hadn't needed to be told that they were bringing as few cars as possible again, and had willingly gotten in the back, not really minding. At the moment he was occupied watching the sky slowly lighten as the sun inched its way upwards. He also desperately tried to block out the sounds of the radio that threatened to make him cry.

Honestly, who would think Brass would be a country fan and actually turn up the volume of Nick's crappy station? The music gods seemed to be against him that night and he knew it was probably his punishment for downloading so many songs instead of buying CDs. It didn't seem fair but he thought he may deserve it.

It was still early, very early to those who had no notion of what it was like to work a nightshift, but he knew it was never too early to confront murder suspects. One thing he had learned during his training was the sooner they are confronted, the less time they have to destroy or lose any evidence they may have with them to link them back to the crime.

The roads suddenly became less familiar as Brass veered off from the path taken to get to the crime scene, but not too long afterwards the car slowed to a stop. Evidently Miguel Sanchez didn't live far from where the Morada hotel killings had taken place.

Things aren't looking good for Miguel, Greg thought, leaning to peer out the front window to see where they had stopped.

It was a small, rundown apartment complex, with probably no more than four or five small residences. The rest of the road had pretty much the same thing, a few small homes mixed in with a couple dilapidated, larger housing complexes.

"721 Oxford St, apartment 4," Nick read aloud from Greg's computer printout on their suspect's address. Greg looked at the old building and saw a rusty 721 hanging above the cracked window in the building's lobby. The really interesting thing though was what was coming down the street.

Leaning into the front, Greg touched Nick's shoulder to get his attention, then pointed out the front window, "That's the car, Chevy Impala, black."

"It sure is. So sweet," Nick commented, able to appreciate the quality of the car as much as Greg had.

"Hey, if he's convicted is his car up for grabs?" Greg asked jokingly.

"You can ask him yourself, he's pulling over," Nick replied.

They all watched with interest as the car indeed slowed and parked in front of 721 Oxford Street, only about thirty feet away from their own car. A Mexican man in his early twenties then quickly got out, scratching his head and looking around nervously.

"And that indeed appears to be Miguel Sanchez," Nick announced, comparing the young man locking his car to the photo on his lap.

"Driver in the surveillance tape was wearing a red bandana too," Greg added, pointing out that Miguel was wearing something similar.

"Well, I think that's enough to warrant a discussion," Brass decided, buttoning his jacket as he got out of the car and approached Miguel before he could get inside the building.

"Miguel Sanchez!" Brass called out loudly, flashing his badge when he got the man's attention. "Las Vegas PD, I'm detective Brass. These gentlemen are from the crime lab, we'd like to have a word with you."

There was a flash of panic in Miguel's eyes but he quickly replaced it with the cocky state of shock that most suspects take in his position.

"I got nothing to say to you guys, I'm gonna be late for work," Miguel lied, trying to inch his way closer to his building and away from any questions the police may have.

"We haven't even told you why we're here," Nick pointed out.

"I don't need to know why. I haven't done anything so I got nothin' to say to any of you," Miguel replied, starting to find a bit of confidence, despite how intimidating Nick and Brass could be together.

"Well what do you say to this, we've got video surveillance that shows your car being used in a double murder a few hours ago," Brass explained, laying it all out. "Now, a good defense would have been, 'but I wasn't in my car all night'. Unfortunately for you, we just saw you drive up in it alone, so you've got one chance to start talking."

"You wanna talk to me, you arrest me, otherwise I'm outta here … hey, get away from my car! What do you think you're doing?" Miguel asked Greg, outraged that anyone would touch his car.

While Brass and Nick had been asking Miguel questions and trying to wear him down enough to talk, Greg had slipped around the three and had taken out his mag-lite to shine into the windows of Miguel's very nice car.

"You step back man. Unless you got a warrant or something you can't even touch my ride," Miguel said, reciting his own rights as he took a stance between Greg and his car, as though protecting the vehicle from harm.

Brass started to move to get Miguel back over there with him to continue questioning, but Nick placed a hand on Brass's arm, halting him.

"Give him a sec," Nick requested, curious to see how Greg handled the situation. He hadn't seen Greg interact with many suspects yet but he wanted to give Greg a chance because he knew he enjoyed talking to them. Brass allowed it for the moment, staying close to his own car with Nick, but kept a close eye on the young CSI.

For his part, Greg wasn't intimidated by this suspect. As much as he wore the colors that the members of the Mexican faction of this mini-gang war were supposed to wear, it was clear that Miguel was not the smooth, cool under pressure type of gangster he wanted to appear to be. He was sweating even though they had only been asking him questions for a few minutes, and he was also defensive and easily distracted, as shown by his jumping at Greg. The man was young too, younger than Greg, only 22, and the CSI had a feeling that Miguel Sanchez was probably just in over his head.

With this in mind Greg willingly stepped back from the car, putting up his hands in a show of peace.

"I didn't touch it, I was just admiring the very fine piece of machinery you have there," Greg said kindly, having sincerely been looking at the interior as much as he had been trying to spot evidence.

"What would you know about it?" Miguel huffed, not impressed by what he took to be a lame excuse from a cop for trying to violate his rights.

"Well, I know you got the Chrome Radials custom designed in a very sweet, vintage pattern. You probably special ordered those rear platings and I'm betting you've got a 100, 150 Ledmer under this hood," Greg hypothesized, easily dipping into his vast car knowledge. It was enough to impress Miguel into stepping aside so a person who understood it could admire the full beauty of his car.

"You know your cars. It's a 175 actually," Miguel corrected him, patting the hood affectionately.

Greg almost whistled, "Sweet man, seriously."

"I know, I got the 720 Redar shocks to compensate," Miguel continued gloating, momentarily forgetting he was in the middle of a police investigation as he talked cars with Greg.

"Yeah, you'd need 'em with the Ledmer's extra fuel absorption," Greg commented, making a show of really looking the car over once more. "You really know your ride. So, I bet you also know where you and it were about six hours ago. You want to tell me about that?"

Greg wasn't trying to scare Miguel into talking and his tone wasn't hard and demanding like Brass's had been. Instead he was asking, almost like a friend, using the quick rapport he had established with Miguel to try to get him to talk.

The smile quickly faded from Miguel's face as he was asked the question, but this time there was no anger as there had been when he talked to Brass, instead there was uncertainty, grief and hesitancy.

"I can't … I can't talk about it," Miguel replied weakly.

From Brass's car Nick couldn't hear everything the two were saying, but he could tell Greg was wearing Miguel down and was impressed. The young man clearly hadn't been willing to talk under pressure and apparently Greg had decided a little 'good cop, bad cop' was in order and had quickly established a rapport with the suspect to earn his trust and get him to talk. He supposed that was just Greg's way. The fashionable former labrat would probably never be able to intimidate anyone but he didn't have any trouble in getting people to talk to and trust him and that was an important quality to have too, whether many people recognized it or not. Nick could tell Brass wanted to just take Miguel in right now and crack him at the station, but Nick had a feeling that Greg was close to something and requested:

"Just give him another minute."

To which Brass nodded but didn't appear entirely patient.

Back by the Impala Greg knew he could get Miguel to talk, he could feel it, "Look, we know you were there, we've got surveillance footage. The only way to make this easier on yourself is to come clean and we're gonna have to know who was with you too."

It was only then that Miguel showed any signs of anger with Greg, "You don't know what the hell you're talking about! Get away from me and my car, we're done here!"

It was clear Miguel was through talking but didn't move, instead he was waiting for Greg to back away from his vehicle first. Greg put up his hands once more and did as asked.

"Okay, if that's the way you want it," he said as he walked by Miguel to return to Brass and Nick.

Brass wasn't done with Miguel yet though and moved to take Greg's place. But the detective had barely taken a step forward when there was a body numbing bang, followed by Greg yelling out in pain as he fell into Miguel, who happened to be beside him when the bullet imbedded itself in Greg's arm.

"Ah!" Greg exclaimed in surprised agony as he toppled over.

"Down!" Brass yelled, drawing his weapon.

"Greg!" Nick immediately started to pull his own gun and run towards Greg but Brass wouldn't allow it. He grabbed a resistant Nick by the arm as he ran past and forced him to take cover behind his car. "Nick, get down dammit!"

There were too many bullets raining down and the sprint to the Impala was too far; they would never make it over without getting hit. Nick started to fight Brass off and make another run for it, but when a bullet landed nearby he knew the detective was right, he would never make it over without getting shot. Greg was on his own.

Fortunately though Miguel was not a total loss for a human being.

"Shit, move!" he ordered, catching Greg when he fell into him, dragging him by the collar and dropping him behind his car as more bullets hit the sidewalk and road around them. Greg fell when Miguel released him and lay on the ground in front of the passenger door, hissing in pain and trying to figure out what was going on.

"Oh god," he whispered, both pain and fear constricting his voice. His arm was on fire and he could already feel the blood start to trickle down his sleeve from the bullet wound. He started to roll over slowly and then found himself pushed out of the way as his suspect tried to pull open the passenger door.

"Sons of bitches! Shit! Shit!" Miguel panicked, ducking a bullet that came too close.

Behind Brass's car, which Greg thought had never looked so far away, Nick and Brass were hunched low, trying to make sense of the situation.

As Brass shouted into his radio he also briefly stood and tried to see their shooter(s) and where they were coming from.

"This is Detective Brass, we have a shooting in progress, 721 Oxford St. Harcant, request immediate back up, we are under heavy fire and have a CSI down!" he yelled to dispatch, repeating several times to make sure he was understood over the weapons fire.

Meanwhile, Nick had locked eyes with Greg, who was leaned up against the Impala, clutching his bleeding right arm and seemingly searching for some way of escape.

"Nick!" he yelled, unsure of what he should do. He wasn't armed and had never been trained for situations like this and trusted that Nick, being far more experienced, would know what to do.

"Greg, don't move! Stay there and stay down!" Nick called out, the advice being the only help he could offer. Greg nodded and tried to appear composed but the illusion was shattered when another bullet struck nearby and he ducked closer to the ground, covering his head. "Damn it! Brass! We've gotta get him out of there!"

Even though the police car was taking some shots it was obvious most of the bullets were intended for Miguel, and they wouldn't be picky about tearing apart the gangster or the CSI trapped with him.

When Greg lifted his head he immediately sought out Nick again, desperately hoping the Texan had come up with a way to get him out of the line of fire, but Nick had no plan, he could only watch. His friend was thirty feet away, bleeding, being shot at and counting on him, and Nick couldn't do anything to help him. Nick hadn't felt this trapped and choiceless since he had been buried alive and he vaguely wondered if this was how the rest of the team had felt while they watched him on that video feed from his coffin.

"What do you want me to do?" Brass demanded since they clearly had few options, then rose to quickly send off a single shot through one of the windows of the building the weapons fire was coming from.

"How long until back up?" Nick asked, gun also pointed up and ready to fire whenever a target came into view.

"A few minutes," Brass answered. Peeking out once more he saw only a gun barrel appear in another of the abandoned building's windows. "Damn it, I've got no clear shot on the shooters."

For his part, Miguel did not know where the shots were coming from, but also didn't seem to care, he just wanted to get away from them.

"To hell with this man. Putting an end to this shit right now!" he exclaimed as he finally got the passenger door of his car open. Greg watched with blurred vision as the man immediately lunged for the glove compartment and pulled out a gun.

Greg cringed away, wanting to run even more since it appeared that Miguel intended to join this firefight and take a shot at his attackers, which could only make things worse.

It was quite a surprise when the gun swung around to be aimed at his forehead.

"Get in the car!" Miguel demanded, shaky, but clearly desperate enough to pull the trigger.

Greg was shocked into freezing for a moment, now panting from sheer terror instead of just incredible pain, knowing that if Miguel decided to pull the trigger that the bullet would do a lot more damage than the one in his arm. In fact, he would be dead.

Behind Brass's car, Nick had been trying to get a look at their shooters and gasped when he turned back around.

"Oh no."

Hearing this faint exclamation, Brass turned as well and his eyes widened. Their suspect had a gun leveled at Greg's head, as if the young CSI didn't have enough problems at the moment.

"Hey!" Brass shouted, trying to get Miguel's attention, as if that would stop the man. Brass also brought his gun around, trying to get a clear shot at the suspect but Greg was in the way.

"Greg!" Nick yelled, but he had no shot either. He was tempted to try and make the sprint across the open street to the Impala and even crouched low near the bumper to get ready to run but a bullet tore by only inches from his face and he knew he would never make it. He watched and prayed.

"Take it easy," Greg requested, lifting his arm in a show of compliance, not in any shape to fight this much stronger, armed man.

"I said move!" Miguel ordered again, grabbing Greg by his bleeding arm.

"Ah, stop!" he shouted, his vision briefly fading from pain. When he could see again he was being pushed headfirst through the passenger door and into the driver's seat.

"Jesus!" he covered his head. The bullets were closer here, louder and much more dangerous.

Miguel had moved into the passenger seat, gun still pointed at Greg with the other hand fishing in his pocket. He finally pulled out a ring of keys and fumbled to stick them into the ignition. When the engine came to life Miguel immediately ducked down as far as possible and closed the passenger door.

"Greg, no! Jim we have to stop this!" Nick shouted as they both watched Greg being forced into the Impala's driver seat. "I'm gonna shoot out the tires."

"Nick no, you could hit the gas tank," Brass countered, not willing to take the risk since they didn't have a clear enough shot at the car and it had already taken a lot of weapons damage.

"Drive! Now!" Miguel yelled at Greg, gun unsteady in his hands that may have been shaking worse than Greg's did.

"What?"

It was only then that Greg realized he was being used as a human shield. Miguel had placed him in the driver's seat to protect the gangster from any stray bullets as he got away. "Come on, get us out of here!"

The gun was at his temple now, and Greg decided that leaving was actually a pretty good looking plan, even if he was risking being shot. He didn't know where he would end up, but somehow it had to be better than here.

"Okay, okay," he muttered and reached over with his left hand to shift the car into drive. His right remained pinned to his chest as he tried to keep it immobile, adrenaline making him able to ignore the pain for now.

When he hit the gas he floored it and the car swerved off the sidewalk. Suddenly there were more bullets than ever trying to stop them. When the back window shattered Greg ducked instinctually and took the wheel with him, running them against another car.

"Brass, they're leaving!" Nick shouted even though he knew Brass was watching as closely as he was.

"I know," Brass said then took out his radio once more. "This is Brass, shootout has escalated into a hostage situation. Suspect has forced a CSI into his car and they are leaving crime scene. I cannot follow. Repeat, I cannot follow. All units watch for a Black Chevy Impala with a broken back window, license plate 439-QRB. Hostage is the driver, proceed with caution."

"Go! Go, get us out of here!" Miguel continued to demand, dividing his focus from behind them, to Greg, to in front and then back, but never shifting the gun away from Greg's head.

The CSI regained control, straightened the car out and sent them straight down the road. Four or five houses had to pass by before it was clear they were no longer being fired on, and both sighed a little in relief. For his part Greg kept his gaze fixed straight ahead as he continued to drive, not yet done being terrified – there may not have been any more bullets firing down on them but he still had to worry about the ones in the gun aimed directly at his head.

When the Impala was out of sight the gunfire died down almost immediately. Brass and Nick risked peeking out from behind the car to try to spot their shooters, but there was no one in sight. The building they had been firing from must have a back entrance, Brass concluded. Stepping into the road he kept his gun pointed at the ground and slowly approached the driver's side of his car.

"Brass come on, we may be able to catch up," Nick urged him, jumping into the passenger seat, desperately eager to catch up with the Impala and get Greg back safely.

But Brass sighed and remained where he was.

"No, we won't."

Both side tires were blown out and there were three bullets in the hood of the car. They weren't going anywhere.

"Whoever wants this guy dead also wants to make sure the cops don't get to him first," Brass noted.

"And meanwhile Greg's caught in the crossfire!" Nick pointed out, masking his own concern poorly after the shootout he had just been in and venting his frustration by kicking at Brass's deflated tires. "Damn it! How the hell did this happen?"

Brass had no reply so instead repeated his APB on the Impala over all police channels. Standing in the middle of the street with their bullet-ridden car, they could only wait and listen to the radio for updates as Greg was forced further and further away.

TBC

I really hope you're all enjoying so far. I'm trying something a little different with this fic (that's all I ever seem to do) and I hope it works. That will probably mean not a whole lot of Nick and the gang and more of a focus on Greg as the story goes along, but I have a feeling not a lot of you will mind. I have the whole story all planned out in my head and it looks so good to me so I really hope you all enjoy it and I can do the images in my head justice. Images, not voices, I'm not insane.

Cause what keeps me sane? My reviewers, and I must thank them for it.

Kazan28 – I like to think all my stories are interesting, so thank you. It might be better to say that things are getting intense though, I love it!

Neeners – Thank you, I work very hard on my proofreading to make my chapters sound good. I hope I held your attention.

Jadieloves – It took me a minute to figure out your abbreviation, but I got it. Thanks so much.

Utemia – Wow! Germany! I have an international reviewer, that's so cool! Thanks for reading.

Manhattan SVU – Well, of course Greg's a great CSI, especially in a Greg story. I always hate when he screwed up in the show earlier on, it didn't seem realistic to me, Greg's smarter than that. I love official CSI Greg.

Rozzy07 – Why thank you, I take pride in my dialogue and I love to hear that people appreciate it.

New creation – ah, you always say the nicest things. Thank you, but I don't mind sharing my imagination. I'd just be greedy if I kept it all to myself. Really though, you're very kind, it's good to be back with a new fic and get to talk to my readers again. So thank you for being here.

Emmithar – I know, that's a big step for me, using an entire chapter for set up with no action. I think I'm growing as a writer, or I'm just getting boring. I agree, I would also like to understand more Greg's dislike for guns, he seemed very adamant about not getting one when he spoke with Hodges. It may be something to explore. I might make up a reason and put it in a later chapter now that I think about it. Anyway, thanks for the review.

Sillie – Why hello! I will try to be regular with the updates and as always, I greatly appreciate the constant reviews.

Red Tigress – lol, yeah, I love Stargate too, I couldn't resist, Archie just seems like one of us. I miss Richard Dean Anderson though, Benjamin Brower seems too young for the role. Anyway, glad you liked the geek reference, thanks for reviewing.

Toxicat – Oh, thank you, I always feel so proud and humbled to be on people's fave's list, it's odd but I appreciate it, and the fact that you have read all my stuff. I don't know how many more CSI fics I will have in me after this one but as long as the show is on I will probably keep writing. Thanks for the review.

CSIwildchild – why thank you so much, I'm excited to be back. I love hearing from my constant reviewers again, it feels like getting back in touch with old friends. I'm glad you liked the chapter, I was worried people would lose interest since the action didn't start until the second one. Thanks for the review, hope to hear from you again.

Kenzimone – lol, I never thought of how that summary would sound to someone who doesn't know the story like I do. I guess it does sound pretty good to just hear Greg and gang war together. Good work on the radio battle with your dad, I was inspired by my sister, she only listens to country, so annoying. Awesome on the websurfing thing too, I seem to have gotten a lot of you in that chapter. Updates should be pretty regular, thanks for the review.

BuyingNickyShavingCream – Oh, thank you, I only hope I can live up to your expectations, it's hard to find original plot ideas in CSI and I worry about keeping people's interest. I hope you enjoy it.

Shacky20 – It just makes me smile so much when I see a review from you. You make my day as much as I make yours, seriously. I enjoyed all the Nick/Greg interaction as well, their dialogue just comes so easily it amazes me, and I also liked writing insecure Greg so I'm glad you enjoyed it. You have told me many times how much you love Painful Journeys and I am trying to live up to that love. As I said in my notes there probably won't be as much as Nick as solo Greg in this one but I have a lot of plans and it should all be a crazy rollercoaster that I hope you'll like. And I feel very honored to have my fic in your top three, especially since Geekwriter has so many great fics out there that I didn't expect to make top ten. And I did read your fic and loved it as I said and the video definitely kicked serious ass, I just watched it again today actually, I love it. Anyway, I'm sure I'll hear from you again, thanks for the review.

Sanders-Kzaos – Why thank you, I am very happy to be back. Don't worry about not reviewing Painful Journeys, it was so long ago I don't expect reviews for it anymore really, I'm just glad you liked it. Thanks for mentioning that you enjoyed all the little things like the thoughts and such, I always worry people just skim over those and I spend time on them for nothing, so it's good to know people enjoy them.

HelenLouise – I'm glad you liked the first chapter and the little spoiler I sent you. But if you really want to know how it's all going to pan out in the end you may have a bit of a wait, I have quite a lot planned, so there should be many more chapters to come. And I am so glad you liked my insights, things like that are usually my favorite part of other people's fics, so it's good to know people enjoy mine. Internet time is still limited but I always have time to post, I just don't have time to read as many other Greg fics as I'd like and that makes me sad, but I survive. Thanks so much for the review.

Mellaithwen – You got me. I know nothing about cars, and am a Supernatural fan and figured Dean's was probably considered a very nice car so I donated it to my bad guy. Very good catch on that one. The CSI fandom actually almost lost me to Supernatural. I was gonna write a multi-chapter fic about the Winchester boys but then I decided I finally had to write this idea I've had for forever. Anyway though, I'm rambling, thanks for the review.

That's it from me, I'll probably have more in a few days. Tell me what you think, thanks for reading, Goody.


	3. Starting the Plan

I love you people sooo much, you are all my valentines! Thanks so much for the great reviewer response, it makes the writing that much more enjoyable.

And as a special valentine treat, here is the next chapter, and this has some harsh swearing at some points which is why the rating is so high, hope I don't offend anyone. Enjoy.

Miles in His Shoes

By Goody

A few streets away and covering ground quickly, Greg was splitting his attention between the road and the shaky barrel of the gun that remained trained on him. What he didn't try to think about was the absolute throbbing in his arm or the blood trickling down his sleeve, although those thoughts may have been more comforting than the way Miguel continued to twitch and shake. As they drove he constantly looked behind them to see if they were being followed and never seemed satisfied. He seemed to be suffering from a bit of paranoia, and though Greg could understand why Miguel would be shaken up after just being shot at like that, he couldn't quite sympathize with the gun in his unsteady hand.

"Could you possibly not point that at me?" he asked quietly, voice shaking, though he was sure to be polite.

"Shut up and keep driving. You drive until I tell you to stop and you try any of that crashing the car to get away shit and I swear there'll be a bullet in your temple before you hit anything," Miguel ordered. "Go left."

Greg did so but then watched as Miguel ran a hand through his hair. It came out damp, the man had quickly begun to sweat and it wasn't from the heat.

Greg swallowed and tried to concentrate on driving and coming up with a way out of this situation but ideas were eluding him. He was too in shock to think. One minute he was confronting a suspect, the next he was being shot, kidnapped and pulled into the middle of a gang war, it was simply too unreal.

Something like this would never happen to Nick, he thought dejectedly and then began to wonder what had happened to Nick. When Miguel was forcing him to drive away he hadn't considered that he would be abandoning Brass and Nick and he suddenly felt guilty for saving himself and leaving his teammates to be shot at. He grit his teeth, hoping they were all right, but knowing he really had to concentrate on keeping himself alive right now.

"Give me your phone," Miguel suddenly demanded beside him, perking up as he seemed to think a great idea had come to him.

"What?" Greg asked, not understanding the request.

Miguel made it clear by lifting the gun higher, "Give me your phone. You cops always got one, now give it to me!"

"Okay, calm down," Greg said soothingly, painstakingly pulling his phone out with his bleeding right arm. "Here, you can keep the phone, but maybe you should just let me go, I don't know where you're going or anything, then I won't slow you down. And I'm not a cop."

"Whatever, just drive," Miguel flung back, not listening as he grabbed the device and quickly dialed. "Please pick up, please. Hey, it's me. I'm in trouble …."

Greg couldn't hear who Miguel was talking to but he clearly deferred to the person for advice, and the CSI thought it was probably the same person who had ordered him on that hit at the hotel. Miguel simply didn't seem like he was willing or capable of orchestrating something like that on his own. He seemed more like a petty thug that had been pulled into something much bigger than he could handle and was drowning in the consequences, looking for a life preserver.

"No, listen, the cops came to talk to me … I didn't tell them anything I swear, nothing … no, I think they were gonna bring me in but someone started shooting at us. It was those fucking niggers I know it, they found out somehow. … No, I got away I'm in my car but … I've got another problem. I sorta kidnapped a cop," Miguel admitted reluctantly to whoever he was speaking with.

Greg swallowed and muttered again, "I'm not a cop."

"Shut up and keep driving! Go right!" Miguel ordered, this time so frustrated he struck Greg in the arm and nearly sent them off the road.

"Ah god."

"Stay on the fucking road!" Miguel ordered, more panicked than angry.

But Greg was finally starting to get angry and show it, "I've got a bullet in my arm you know, that was probably meant for you. You're more than welcome to drive if you want to!"

Miguel clearly wanted to respond to this but was again focussed on his phone conversation, "I'm here … I needed him to drive, those fuckers were trying to shoot me … well what do I do?"

Greg desperately tried to hear the answer to this, wanting to know more than anything what was going to happen to him. He wasn't trained for something like this, hell, was anyone? He didn't know how to handle criminals without backup and the bullet in his arm seemed to be a constant reminder of how little he knew about taking care of himself on the streets. At this point he just wanted to go home, maybe even back to the DNA lab, it really hadn't been that bad except for that one time with the fire, and that probably wouldn't happen again. Anywhere but here, he decided, would be wonderful, because judging by the distraught look on Miguel's face the person on the other end wasn't telling him to drop Greg off at a police station and continue on his way.

"Man, no, that's … yeah but … I know, but if the cops show I could use him … yeah I get that but I can't just … yeah … yeah ……. Okay. All right, I will … I will, I know. Bye."

When Miguel hung up the phone Greg felt a chill up his spine. The kidnapper took a steadying breath and the nervousness was all but gone, but he still bit his lip, unhappy and contemplative. Whomever he had talked to had been able to soothe Miguel's nerves and they were now replaced with an unsettling calm, like he had a plan and was focussed so no longer had to worry, or at least was trying to tell himself that. He looked behind them again to see if they were being followed, but now it was more out of curiosity than paranoia.

"Who was that?" Greg asked.

"None of your business," Miguel answered, but was no longer angry. Instead his voice was flat, almost dead and he no longer made eye contact as he seemed deep in thought. "Take another right and then stop at number 62."

As he said this Miguel tossed Greg's phone out the window, again, not angry but more like tying up a loose end.

"Where are we going?" Greg asked, trying to sound casual as he continued to shake from fear and pain. He was surprised when he got an answer, though Miguel started to sound nervous again as he said it.

"My girlfriend's."

Warrick yawned as he drove and made a note to stop at a coffee shop now that he was back in the city. Catherine hadn't been exaggerating, the drive to Loughlin wasn't a quick one, but at least with three of them working the case it hadn't taken too long to process the house, at least it wouldn't take much longer for Catherine and Sara. In the back seat he had all the evidence they had collected so far to start processing at the lab. Sara and Catherine were still at the scene, finishing up, and Warrick was on his way to oversee their victim's autopsy.

The sun had just come up but traffic was still thin. There was still time until rush hour and Warrick was confident he wouldn't have too much trouble getting back to the lab.

Just as he spotted a place that was opening where he could get some coffee his cell phone rang and he drove past the shop, knowing there would be another in a few streets.

The caller ID said it was Nick. Warrick wondered if he wanted to get some breakfast after shift and answered rather cheerily.

"Hey man, what's up?"

Nick's reply was much more sombre and tense than he expected, "Hey, are you in your car?"

"Yeah, I just got back in the city," Warrick said, his good mood fading as he noted Nick's curt tone, like he was holding back a flood of emotional distress.

"I don't suppose you've been listening to your police scanner?" Nick asked, already knowing the answer really, but trying to avoid saying aloud the reason he called anyway he could.

"No, I never leave that thing on," Warrick replied and was getting edgy from Nick's avoidance of the issue. "What is it? What's going on?"

"How fast can you get to Harcant?" Nick asked, stalling for just another second.

"Uh, I'm probably fifteen, twenty minutes away."

"Well get here fast then, Greg's just been kidnapped by our suspect. We're getting all units here to help find him," Nick said in a rush, as if saying it quickly, like it was an everyday thing would make it easier to handle.

Warrick nearly ran a red light.

"What? How?" he demanded, shocked.

Nick sighed, not quite sure how it had happened himself.

"I don't know. Greg was talking to the guy, then suddenly people were shooting at us from across the street and we all got separated, then the guy pulls out a gun and makes Greg drive them out of there. Brass and I couldn't follow them and there hasn't been any sign of them since," Nick reported.

"Are you okay?" Warrick asked, concerned for both his friends.

"I'm great for a guy who just watched his friend get kidnapped right in front of him," Nick replied harshly, but Warrick could forgive the bad attitude.

"Well, what the hell would the guy want with Greg? Did he seem dangerous?" Warrick questioned, still trying to wrap his brain around the whole thing.

"I don't know Rick, we're still trying to piece it all together." Nick sounded totally exhausted by the conversation and though Warrick had more questions about Greg's safety and well being, he held back, knowing it would just stress Nick out even more.

"All right, I'll be there as soon as I can," Warrick promised.

"Be on the lookout for a Black Impala with bullet holes in it will you?" Nick requested, knowing every set of eyes could help.

"Yeah, sure thing. I'll see you in a few," Warrick said, then hung up and made a sharp turn headed for Harcant. He had never liked that area and now he was pretty sure he had a reason to absolutely hate it.

Before turning into the driveway of 62 Edwards St. Greg took a long look at the house. It was probably a two bedroom that had clearly seen better days. The siding was original, old and shabby, the driveway cracked, but the lawn was mowed and the front door decorated, as though someone was holding on to scraps of the house's dignity and working hard to make it a decent home. There was also a car in the driveway, a beat up Buick that probably didn't run nearly as well as Miguel's car, despite the fresh bullet holes in it.

Using his left arm to put the Impala into park, Greg waited for Miguel to make the next move. The Mexican was nervous again, hand bouncing on his knee and licking his lips, but this wasn't a facedown the cops kind of nervous, it was the kind every man knew and feared so well, the trying to explain things to your girlfriend kind of nervous. Greg could sympathize, at least he could if he didn't have a gun at his head.

"All right, all right, get out," Miguel finally decided, evidently realizing he would have to face her some time.

"Okay," Greg nodded and got out slowly, trying not to hurt himself, but also taking a moment to check out the neighbourhood. It was still early, the sun was up but there was no one in the streets, even if there was Greg knew there would most likely be no help for him here. The houses were all rundown, lived in by the poverty stricken or the illegal aliens, sometimes both. There was no sign of community or welcome, just gang tags on half the houses, and an entire neighbourhood that had been devoid of police presence since it had been built. Chances were slim that there was anyone in sight that would be willing to call the cops to the neighbourhood, especially to help a stranger.

All thoughts of running left Greg's mind though when Miguel quickly jumped out of his side and brought that constant reminder of his authority up to meet Greg's eyes from across the car.

"Come on, around the side door," Miguel instructed, watching as Greg begrudgingly followed his orders and came around, head up on the lookout, but hand clutched tightly around his bleeding arm. "And don't you even think of trying anything in my girl's house, or I swear I will beat you so bad you'll wish I had just put a bullet in your head. You keep your mouth shut."

"Okay, I get it," Greg said compliantly as Miguel knocked and they waited. Greg looked down, the gun was now pointed at his side, which he supposed was an improvement from his head, but he still wanted it gone. "You're just gonna let your girlfriend see you waving that thing around?"

Miguel also looked at the gun and seemed to debate in his head for a minute, but then he shrugged and tried to act casual, "She knows how I live." And knocked again, harder. "Anna! Open up, it's me! Let me in!"

"She's gonna understand _this_?" Greg asked, indicating himself, the gun, his arm and the car.

Miguel's face tightened in anger and he pushed Greg against the stairway railing, "I'm having a bad day, all right, I don't need your lip on top of it all, stressing me out."

Breath hitching, Greg nodded, "Yeah, 'kay, sorry."

Then for reasons he couldn't understand, when the man released him Greg added, "But you're not the only one."

He was saved from any further punishment when the screen door opened and the lovers' quarrel began.

"What the hell are you doing? Do you know what time it is? Where have you been? I've been calling you all night. You think you can just leave me waiting and not tell me where you are?" Anna also appeared to be in her early twenties, just out of bed, but very alert and angry. Flinging open the door, she pushed Miguel lightly, displaying her anger as she ranted.

"I was out, okay, I had some business."

Despite what he had said to Greg earlier, Miguel took the lecture and the push, all while concealing the weapon behind his back as he tried to move her into the house and away from prying eyes.

"Business? You're going to have to do better than that. And don't you dare try to tell me you were with Derek, I called him, he hasn't seen you all night," Anna continued.

"Okay, okay, you can yell at me, just let us in," Miguel requested, needing her to back up and get out of the doorway so they could get by.

At the word 'us' Anna seemed to notice Greg for the first time and her brows furrowed, "Who's this? Why the hell is he bleeding Miguel? What's going on!"

Now her anger began to escalate, no longer limited to the fury that came from a stilted date, now there was the rage that came with being associated with the shady activities she knew her boyfriend was a part of, and didn't want him to be.

"Who is this?" Anna demanded again when they were all inside the minimally furnished living room.

She hadn't been looking at Greg and he didn't think it was the type of situation where it was appropriate to introduce himself, so he made a point of standing out of the way and to the side as the couple argued things out.

"Look baby, I can't explain right now. I just need to borrow your car and then I gotta go," Miguel said, trying to get out of there quickly, but Anna would not allow it.

"Borrow my car? What's wrong with yours?"

"The cops are looking for it," Miguel answered, almost ashamed.

"The cops? You got the cops on you and you want _my_ car? What is wrong with you? Did you shoot this guy? What is he doing here?" Anna demanded again, not letting the subject drop. But she did pick up a towel from the coffee table and hand it to Greg.

"Here, try not to bleed on my carpet," she said, but her tone indicated she was actually more concerned with Greg than the floor, she was also just incredibly angry with her boyfriend. Greg could understand this and took the towel, but continued to be silent as ordered.

"No, I didn't shoot him, I saved his life, those fucking crips tried to take me out okay, I gotta make myself scarce," Miguel explained, conveniently leaving out a few facts, like how Greg was his hostage and he had been involved in a double murder earlier in the night.

"Yeah, cause being scarce is your specialty. Do you have any idea how worried I was? You didn't call, you didn't tell me where you were," she lectured him, not appreciating being stood up or left in the dark.

"Carlos wouldn't let me, not until after the job. Please, I can't explain now," Miguel pleaded, knowing the cops would be after him.

"I just can't believe you sometimes," Anna disappeared in a huff to the kitchen but returned shortly with a ziploc back of gauze and tape, which she opened and immediately started treating Greg's arm with the precision of someone who had done so before. "Sit down."

Greg grit his teeth and didn't complain about the pain since he figured she was probably only doing it to distract herself from her anger with Miguel, but her attitude stayed the same as she continued her tirade. "You're not going anywhere in my car until I know exactly what is going on. You got yourself into this shit and you're not just gonna run away from everything with my car. Now why the hell would anyone want to try to kill you? Hold still."

The last was said to Greg and he did as told. She may have been angry with Miguel but she wasn't heartless. In fact, Greg suspected she had a very well rounded maternal side to her as she cleaned and bandaged his arm, despite the fact that she was oblivious to him as she argued with her boyfriend.

"Baby, I can't get into this right now, just give me the keys. I swear I'll call you as soon as I can, but I gotta go, now," Miguel pleaded again.

It was clear Anna was getting fed up with him, as was obvious from the angry way she pushed the tape onto Greg's arm to keep the gauze in place.

"Ah," he hissed, but was again ignored.

"If you don't respect me enough to tell me what's going on, then I'm not giving you shit, all right. Now I want to know why … what the hell's this?"

Greg and Miguel both tensed when Anna suddenly flipped over the ID badge on Greg's chest. It had been getting hot as the sun came up so Greg had opted to wear his badge on a chain around his neck instead of putting on the heavy forensics vest. He hadn't even remembered he was wearing it and Miguel hadn't noticed it since Greg's left arm had covered it up while he tried to keep his right from bleeding too badly. But as soon as the arm was down Anna had picked up on the badge and as her eyes widened in realization, Greg wondered if he was dead. Miguel had warned him not to talk, which essentially meant don't let Anna know he was more or less being kidnapped, and he had failed.

"A cop? What the fuck are you doing with a cop, Miguel? What's going on here?" Greg was surprised that this time she was addressing him, looking him right in the eye, and for fear of what Miguel may do if he said the wrong thing, Greg could only barely stutter out a response.

"I … I'm not a cop."

"He's just … helping me baby, I gotta get my name cleared," Miguel lied, unconvincingly.

Anna wasn't fooled and threw her hands up, "That's it, I'm calling Carlos, he'll tell me what the hell's going on here."

"Don't you dare. Put down that phone!" Miguel ordered, snatching it from her hands and smashing down the receiver. She flinched and stepped away, feeling for the first time like the situation was not in her control as Miguel proceeded to yell at her. "You don't ever call Carlos, you hear me? You don't go calling him like I can't handle my shit. I've got everything under control, okay. Everything. I just need you to trust me. Can you trust me baby? Please."

The tough act was crumbling away and the beginnings of tears showed in Anna's eyes, but she still asked again, softly this time, "Please, baby, what is going on?"

Miguel softened as well and put an arm around her pulling her into his chest as she cried, "I can't, I'm so sorry, I don't want you involved in this. I'm sorry I came over, I didn't have anywhere else to go."

She nodded against his chest and it was clear that the earlier anger had only been because the two cared for each other and were frustrated by all the lying. It was a beautiful moment between the two, but beautiful or not, Greg's only thoughts were of escape, getting to a phone, a public place, anything, and he thought this would be his only chance.

Miguel didn't even notice Greg had started to run until he heard the screen door squeak and by then Greg had already started to bolt down the stairs.

"Sonofabitch," Miguel muttered, pushing away from Anna and chasing after the CSI.

"Miguel! Where are you going? Stop!"

Greg ran for all he was worth but was slowed down by the unfamiliar geography and bullet wound. And even though Miguel was a few inches shorter than Greg, he was also in great shape, built at least as well as Nick, and Greg could definitely feel it when he was tackled from behind and hit the ground hard. He had been running across a yard at the time and his body hit dirt, but the impact still drove the air from his body and he immediately rolled over off his bad arm.

"What did I tell you? What did I tell you?" Miguel asked angrily, pointing the gun at Greg's face as he stood over him while he gasped for air. Greg didn't try to respond, didn't really do much of anything, but Miguel still let loose on him, kicking him several times in the stomach to vent his frustration and make it clear who was in control. Greg tried to roll away but then just curled in on himself as the blows landed and was only saved by a screaming Anna pulling Miguel away before he killed the CSI.

Greg just lay gasping, praying someone would call the police as he bled on their lawn and the couple argued beside him.

"What are you doing Miguel? What the fuck? You said he was helping you?" Anna accused, pushing him away from Greg and taking his attention off his injured hostage.

"He is gonna help me, whether he likes it or not. I'm in trouble Anna, I told you, I don't have time for this," he exclaimed.

"Make time, tell me. You tell me what the fuck this is Miguel or I swear I'm calling the cops the second you pull out of here!"

Miguel's anger returned again and this time he even grabbed her by the arm, "You're not gonna talk to anyone, you hear me! You don't tell anyone you saw me, anyone! Do you know how big this is? Do you have any idea? If you talk to anyone baby, anyone, I'm dead. The cops, the crips, someone will cap me. Just help me baby, please."

Eyes closed against the tears, Anna nodded her head, but when she looked at him there was no love, more like resigned anger.

"The keys are on the kitchen table. Just go," she ordered, no warmth in her voice.

This change of attitude seemed to hurt Miguel the most, but he had no time to express these feelings. Instead he reached down and grabbed Greg by the collar of his shirt, pulled him to his feet and made him walk back to the house. As Greg stumbled Miguel just pulled him along again and again, heedless of his injuries, but no longer yelling at him to move either. Anna walked ahead of both of them, not looking back and reached the house first.

When they were back in the driveway, Miguel was still standing tall and rigid as Greg leaned over, coughing and spitting out blood from his split lip. No longer looking at Greg, Miguel did turn when Anna stepped out the front door and forcefully pushed the keys into his hand. Their eyes met for an intense moment, but there was no time for what either of them wanted to say.

Miguel twirled the keys in his hand for a moment then nodded, "Thanks. Cover up the Impala, the cops are looking for it. I was never here."

"I already wish you weren't," Anna replied icily, but instead of responding to the biting comment, Miguel simply turned towards their new car, a beat up, dirty brown Buick.

Pushing the keys into Greg's chest, Miguel headed for the passenger door.

"I'm driving?" Greg asked breathlessly, still able to feel Miguel's boot prints on his abdomen.

"You got a problem with that?" Miguel was clearly in no mood to be argued with and Greg moved to the driver's side.

"No." As he climbed in he thought about how on his first two trips into Harcant he hadn't been allowed to drive or even bring his own car because it had been considered too dangerous. How ridiculous a thought that seemed now as got in to chauffeur around a suspected murder who had already fled two crime scenes and was currently taking him hostage. As he turned the ignition the thought actually made him laugh sadly, despite the intense circumstances.

"What's so funny?" Miguel asked, not wanting to be laughed at.

"Nothing," Greg said, sobering as he backed out. "It's just about time I got to drive around here."

As he pulled out though he had no idea where they were going, and looking at Miguel, he wondered if his kidnapper did either.

TBC

Do I know where they're going? Of course I do. Am I going to tell you? Not yet, but I will eventually.

Hope you all liked, I know the rest of the team wasn't in it very much but they play a bigger role next time, though there's still plenty of Greg. Hope you'll be there.

In the meantime, I have to thank my great reviewers. I apologize to any of you I miss, I will be late for class if I spend too much time on this and I won't be able to get on the internet again until tomorrow.

Aries Zodiac – Thanks so much, I'm glad you liked the car talk scene, especially since I made up all the car info as I said. No worries, I always finish my CSI stories, I would never just leave it unfinished.

HelenLouise – I just can't say how much I love getting your reviews, they're always so thoughtful. You always manage to compliment me on the parts of my writing that I'm the most unsure about, like the little details and the logic behind the plot. I think that's really the hardest part about fanfiction writing, making the plot logical while sending the characters on crazy adventures. So great to know you're reading and enjoying, thanks again.

Krazy – I would never forget you! You've done so much for Greg fanfiction with your site and your work and such. I'm glad you liked the fic, but I totally get how you can splurge into other fandoms. I've been on a bit of a Supernatural high myself, even as I work on my CSI stuff, and Stargate is getting intriguing again as well. Thanks for the kind words, it makes all the work I put into the little details really worth it. Good to hear from you. What fandoms are you writing for now?

Remoob1513 – Greg always seem to find trouble somehow, but actually you've kind of stumbled onto the whole big theme I'm going for with this fic, it's letting Greg kind of save himself and take care of himself instead of letting the rest of the team do it. I think it should be interesting, and I hope everyone else does.

Vanagristiel – Well, I did wait until chapter 2 to get him shot, which actually took a lot of patience on my part, so he had a little un-shot time in there. But I agree, he's better shot, more cuddly. Thanks for the review.

New creation – Thank you, as always. I'm glad you liked Greg bonding, I thought Greg would be the kind of guy to use his strengths, like car knowledge, to succeed in the field, so I thought it fit. Glad you're enjoying, thanks for the review.

Iris Early – Oh thank you, I take pride in my action scenes and I'm honored you would try to learn off me, that's really cool. Your user profile doesn't have any fics in it though, I hope you post some of your stuff, I'd love to see how you're doing. I love Greg too. Thanks again.

Emmithar – definitely one of the nicest, best reviews ever. Thank you. And you made me laugh so hard on that remembrance wall thing "not for dying of course" – so funny! But congratulations for being on one, and for being alive! I've never heard Greg give a reason for not liking guns that I recall, it seemed in the episode I saw he just didn't see the point of having one since cops did and a lot of other CSIs did, so he didn't see why he needed one. Nick actually brings this up next chapter and makes some points I think you'll like. I think Holly isn't forgotten, just kind of off limits, I remember once Warrick was like "we lost a CSI like that two years ago" which meant Holly, though they didn't say her name. And I guess I can see myself growing as a writer. As I read back over Painful Journeys now I see a lot of things I might rephrase or not drag out so much, so I guess that's change, if not growth. Well thanks for reading and being so enthusiastic, love hearing from you.

Rosalea – Well, welcome to our CSI work, but wow, you think this is a bad cliffhanger? I know you've read my other stuff (and no worries for not reviewing, just glad you liked them) but I've had some really bad cliffhangers, you were probably just lucky enough to read when the whole thing was done. I don't know how people didn't kill me when I left them hanging for a week or so without putting up a new chapter. But, I'm off point. Thanks for the review, hope you like what I do to our boys.

CSIwildchild – hope you're breathing now, new chapter and all. Thanks so much for the review, glad you liked the writing.

Queen of the Elven City – First of all, your spelling is fine, much better than some people, and secondly, you never have to apologize after leaving a nice review like that. Thank you so much.

Red Tigress – Well really, you usually can't go wrong with a shootout, something interesting HAS to happen. As for Browder, I don't think he's doing a bad job, just miss Jack. And unfortunately I don't watch Atlantis yet, I'm up in Canada and the Space channel only just got the rights to show it, but I'm eagerly anticipating it. Thanks for the review.

Shacky20 – To be honest, sometimes when I write bad cliffhangers or hurt the boys, or guilt them I think of you and how you will react, and this was pretty much what I imagined, you all frantic. As for the boys, of course Nick's got the guilt, it might as well be his middle name in my fics, but I'm going to try and let Greg take care of himself a little this time around. There will be eventual save-age but I'm trying something new. Oh, and the nick/greg people have been treating me very nicely at your site, they've said lovely things and I'm happy to post there. Thanks for that again.

Kenzimone – lol, I love that logic – Miguel is likeable because he drags Greg into danger, that definitely works for me. And to be fair, Greg is only in trouble in the fanfiction world, they've kept him annoyingly safe on the show lately. But if they would only take our ideas it would be soo wonderful.

Mellaithwen – I love how you have reviewed so often I don't even have to check how to spell your name anymore, that's awesome! And I am officially hooked on Supernatural as well. Dean is hot and the whole premise rules! Only two main characters, who are hot brothers, who every episode have to save each other! It's a hurt/comfort fan's heaven! I've noticed my chapters are really long this time around, but that's just where they stop, I doubt people mind. But, thank you for the review, and enjoy the new episode tonight, it looks good!

Many wonderful and heartfelt thanks to all my other reviewers as well, Greeneyes, karmine, skat8erchick1435, kazan28, jedipadfoot, sillie, meismename, neeners, rikairora, lol, frostfalcon, Sorry I didn't have time to respond to you all.

There might not be more for a week or more, I've got spring break coming and will be going home where I have no computer, sorry. Hope everyone has a good valentine's day, Goody.


	4. Unknown Locations

No time to talk, haven't updated, enjoy …

Miles in His Shoes

By Goody

When Warrick arrived at Oxford street he was far from the first one there. Word about the shooting and kidnapping had spread like wildfire and everybody wanted to help retrieve their suspect and get Greg back safely. Cruisers had already blocked off both ends of the road, the crime scene tape was up and ballistics experts were working on retrieving the bullets from Brass's car and the sidewalk.

Despite the heavy police presence on its way in, no one had spotted Miguel's car yet, but very few cops knew the area very well either. They were in Miguel's territory and he would know the best ways to avoid the cops, which meant it would be that much harder to find him and Greg, but the LVPD was always up for a challenge.

Nick and Brass were on the bullet ridden sidewalk, just finishing talking to what looked like a civilian, as Warrick approached. Nick broke off from Brass and met him halfway.

"Nick, hey, is there anything new? What can I do?" Warrick asked immediately, eager to help in the search for their missing teammate. It had already been almost half an hour since the abduction and everyone knew the first few hours were the most vital.

Nick's gaze was intense, his entire focus directed towards just that, what they could do. There wasn't much, they only had a vague direction that Miguel and Greg had left in, but there were a few leads and Nick needed to track them down. He had been the last one to see Greg, bleeding and terrified, and he had watched him be taken away. He didn't plan on watching anymore, it was time for action.

"You can come with me," Nick said, leading Warrick back to his own car since Brass's was out of commission. "Miguel's landlord knew his girlfriend's name, she doesn't live too far away, he thinks he may go there. Brass is calling in for an exact address now."

As if he heard his name Brass came jogging over, "Anna Domingez, 62 Edwards Street. You two can follow but neither of you do anything until my men clear the house, this guy's armed and desperate."

The CSIs nodded, knowing they would be pushing to ask for more than that, then got in their car and prepared to follow the black and whites to the address.

As Warrick drove, deathly focussed on not losing the speeding cop cars, he also took a moment to glance at Nick, who looked like if he got any tenser he'd be made of stone.

"I uh, I heard Greg got shot," Warrick said. He had turned on his police scanner for the rest of the drive over, praying to hear that someone had found the car or Greg and everything was fine, and though that had not happened, he was still morbidly curious to hear more about the danger Greg was in.

Nick didn't make eye contact and clearly didn't want to relive the moment, "Yeah, just in the arm, I'm pretty sure, I don't know how serious. I can't tell you much more."

Warrick nodded, understanding, but taking the information for what it was and facing the front once more.

"How are you doing?" Warrick asked, knowing Nick's stress handling capabilities might be a little overloaded since his 'burial' a few months before. The last thing he needed was the emotional burden of having a friend be kidnapped too, let alone being forced to watch it helplessly, just like they had when Nick had been taken.

"I'm fine, I'll be better when we get this guy, get Greg back," Nick replied and Warrick decided not to push the fact that Nick didn't seem 'fine' at all. There were a few minutes of silence as they continued through the beat up streets of Harcant, both lost in thoughts of what they would find when they stopped, if it would be Greg and if he would still be alive.

Nick kept his gaze focussed on the other cars in the street and the sidewalks, as if he might spot Greg or Miguel Sanchez walking by. But he knew he wasn't that lucky, and he also knew he couldn't believe that he had lost Greg.

The youngest member of their CSI team, and pretty much still a rookie in the field and he had abandoned him with a suspect. And when the bullets started flying he had abandoned him completely, leaving him alone and unarmed behind that Impala, and Nick wished more than anything that he had tried to take that run across the road, had taken a chance of making it instead of just abandoning the level 1 CSI to be taken hostage. He knew as well as anyone how unsafe the area was, even if Greg had been establishing a rapport with their suspect a lot of others things could go wrong, as had just been proven, and Nick couldn't stop wondering why he had been so stupid to leave Greg alone.

"Are they slowing down?" Nick asked suddenly, closely watching the police cars ahead of them.

"Yeah, this must be the place," Warrick surmised, shifting into park behind the blockade of cruisers that was quickly forming in the road. They got out of the car and watched as SWAT members streamed out of cars ahead of them and formed ranks in the street, waiting for the order to go into the house.

Brass was standing around a car with a group of other high ranking officers discussing the plan of entry. Warrick and Nick stood on the opposite side of the car, listening and waiting for the action to start, praying Greg would be inside and all right. But somehow, Nick didn't think so.

"There's no car in the driveway," he pointed out, looking over the small house that had no garage. Miguel hadn't seemed like he'd be too eager to find a place and bunker down there, he had looked like he wanted to run and keep running, and he'd need his car for that.

Brass heard his comment and turned to him, "It's behind the house. Car's covered with a tarp so we can't get a make, but it's enough to go in. All right people, let's go."

And with that word the action began. Cops began to circle the house, stepping quietly even though it was early morning and they could clearly be seen by everyone. Speaking of which, Nick spotted numerous curtains being pulled back in nearby houses to watch the action, but no one dared leave their home. It seemed almost everyone had something to hide in this neighborhood, but for the moment the police were only interested in Anna Domingez.

Then suddenly the SWAT team was moving in. The door was kicked open and men swarmed into the house, sweeping every room, checking behind every door and piece of furniture.

Normally they would need a warrant just to enter a person's house, but these were extenuating circumstances. In a situation where lives were immediately at stake, some rules could be thrown out and probable cause, sometimes just suspicion, was enough to ransack a house or organize a raid if it was for the purpose of saving lives.

Unfortunately for them, they had the right place, only the wrong time.

Anna was sitting in her living room still fighting back tears when the door burst down and men with body armor and guns stormed into her house.

She screamed and tried to run away, but there were men coming in the backdoor too, also armed and frightening.

"Ah, God, don't kill me please! Please, don't shoot, please!" she yelled, throwing her arms up and hoping to be heard over the destruction and commotion.

"On the ground! On the ground, now!" the SWAT leader instructed her. She did as told and laid down shakily, hands instinctively cupping the back of her head. "Where is he? Miguel Sanchez, where is he?"

Too scared to look up, she could only shake her head. She didn't know where he was, but she was beginning to wish she had asked.

Outside, Warrick and Nick watched the police officers swarm the house then waited anxiously for news, for anything. A few minutes passed and still there was nothing.

"Come on, come on," Nick urged, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Was Greg in the house or not? Was he still alive or …?

"All clear," a static voice said over Brass's radio and the CSIs leaned closer to hear what they had found.

"Report," Brass requested.

"House is clean, no one but the owner. No sign of the suspect or our guy," the voice announced and all three men felt their hearts sink.

"All right, standard sweep. Bring the girl out, I'll have a talk with her," Brass instructed and sighed as he threw the radio back into the patrol car.

Warrick and Nick were rigid, looking at the street. Nick bit his lip, his face a mask of worried frustration.

"Come on," Brass urged them, knowing better than to leave them to stew in emotion. "Let's see what she has to say."

As the three of them walked up the driveway Anna was being escorted out of the house, hands cuffed behind her back.

"Hey Anna, I'm Detective Brass, we'd like to ask you a few questions about your boyfriend, Miguel," Brass said, not requesting but making clear it would be in her best interest to answer.

"Are you crazy? You broke into my home and destroyed my house and you think I'm going to talk to you?" It appeared she had more to say but Brass stopped her angry tirade with one of his own.

"Look, I don't want to hear it, I'm having a bad day too. I've got a kidnapped CSI, a murder suspect on the run, two bodies in the morgue and someone actually did try to kill me today, so I don't really care," Brass told her.

"You've also got Miguel Sanchez's car in her backyard," Warrick yelled out, having moved behind the house to remove the tarp from the covered up vehicle. "And there's blood in the front seat."

_Greg's blood_, Nick told himself, feeling his anger build up over his concern.

"Now _that_ I care about, cause that blood happens to belong to a friend of mine and that doesn't sit too well with me. Now this is going to be your only chance to talk, so I'd take advantage of it," Brass added, waiting for her to break.

"Where is he? Where'd he go?" Nick demanded, not in any mood to wait.

Anna bit her lip, she knew she was caught, but couldn't bring herself to turn Miguel in.

"Let me explain something to you miss, you're looking at criminal charges here for aiding and abetting a fugitive, not to mention putting people's lives at stake. Now if you want to make this easier on yourself and avoid twice as long a prison sentence you'll tell us where Miguel and Greg are. Did you give him your car?" Nick questioned relentlessly, needing her to break.

"Look, I don't know where he is," Anna finally said. "Miguel came over and stole my car, he knows where I keep the keys. I woke up and his shot up Chevy was in my driveway and I didn't want anyone to see it so I put it in the backyard and covered it up."

"So you haven't seen him?" Brass asked skeptically, knowing she was lying.

"Not since last night," she said, head held high, determined to hold on to her lie in an attempt to protect herself and Miguel as much as possible.

"So you didn't see anyone with him? You didn't see the CSI he took hostage?" Nick questioned, his voice getting loud with his anger. But Anna could take it.

"I didn't see anyone," she replied firmly.

"Sir," a SWAT member called to Brass from the doorway to the house, "We've got some blood in here, on the floor. Bandages too and what looks like a bloody towel. It's all we've got so far."

Brass smiled and looked at Anna; she was caught.

"I don't suppose you'd like to change that last statement? Cause if the blood on that towel matches our missing CSI you're going away for a long time."

Anna was silent again, clearly conflicted – she pulled against her cuffs in frustration.

"You know, your boyfriend he's in trouble, serious trouble and it's going to be even worse if he runs. But you know, maybe you don't care, but here's something you should care about, by helping him, you made yourself an accomplice, and everything he does from now on is legally on your head. So if that CSI he took hostage dies, for any reason, I can guarantee that I will take you up on murder charges and see that you get the maximum possible penalty, which would be life!" Brass threatened, laying out what was in store for her if she remained quiet.

This is when she broke, only willing to take so much for her boyfriend.

"All right, they were here, but I don't know where they went I swear. Miguel said some crips tried to take him out and the cops were after him and he needed my car. I just wanted him to leave and I gave him the keys. I don't even know what he did," she promised desperately.

"What about Greg?" Nick asked and received a blank stare. "The CSI who was with him."

"The little cop guy? He uh, he was bleeding. Miguel said he was helping him so I patched up his arm, I took care of him. But, but then I saw he was a cop and I started fighting with Miguel and then he tried to run away and Miguel caught him and hit him and I tried to stop him, I pulled him off the guy. Then Miguel, he just left, took the keys and made the guy drive them out of here. I'm pretty sure he was okay, I don't know."

"Where were they going?" Nick asked again, teeth grinding as he was in no mood to hear more of her babble about the mistreatment Greg had received in her home at the hands of her panicked, gangster boyfriend.

She shook her head, "I don't know, honest. I asked him and he wouldn't tell me, I swear."

Nick's jaw threatened to crack from the tension so Brass stepped forward, "Where do you think he'd go?"

"I don't know uh, maybe, maybe Carlos's, his brother. They don't really see eye to eye a lot but Miguel wouldn't have a whole lot of places to go," she explained.

"Where does he live?" Nick asked as Brass got ready to send his men to their next location.

"I don't know, serious. I never been there, I only got his cell number," she explained, which she gave them.

"All right," Brass said, calming a little since they now had some kind of useful information. "Now what kind of car do you own?"

"A '92 Buick, brown."

"License plate?"

"I don't know," she answered shrugging. Brass gave her a look that said he wouldn't take any bullshit, but she was in earnest. "Seriously, you know your license plate?"

"I'll call it in and find out," Nick said, unable to hear anymore and walking away, glad to have a task to do. He flipped his phone and called the lab. Archie was still there, monitoring the police channels and ready to look up any information they needed to help find Greg. He found the DMV records for Anna's license plate then Nick sent out the APB on the car to all units. He also found that Miguel's brother, Carlos, had a much longer criminal record than his brother and gave them his current address.

"Thanks Arch, that's great, I'll let you know what we find," he promised.

"Hopefully it'll be Greg," Archie said, trying to sound hopeful. "Good luck. Get him back in one piece all right."

"Yeah, thanks, I'll try," he replied and hung up. "Brass, Archie got us an address on Carlos!"

"All right, take her to holding, keep a car on the house in case he shows for some reason, everyone else, move out," Brass instructed, leading the way as the rest of the officers rushed to their own cars.

Nick stood his ground, running a hand through his short hair and trying not to scream in frustration. A hand on his shoulder made him turn, suddenly jumpy and tense.

It was Warrick.

"Come on, let's go, we'll find him," Warrick promised.

But Nick looked at the ground and shook his head, "No, we won't. He's not gonna be there, Rick. Sanchez got a new car and now he's running and he's gonna keep running and take Greg with him until he realizes he doesn't need him anymore. Damn it, I should have stopped him when I had the chance."

"When was that? Before or after you were being shot at?" Warrick asked.

"Don't give me that Warrick, there was plenty I could have done," Nick griped, not willing to let himself off the hook just yet.

"Nothing that wouldn't have gotten you shot in the process. Greg wouldn't want that and it wouldn't have helped him any," Warrick said wisely.

"You know what would have helped him?" Nick asked suddenly with building anger. "A gun. If he had just been armed, if he had gotten a stupid sidearm like I told him to none of this would have happened. Why's he always have to do that?"

"What?"

"Change the rules, be so independent and different and get away with it. He can't do anything like the rest of us. We all have guns so of course he doesn't want one, and look what happens! Damn it, look what happens," Nick sighed, deflating, knowing even as he said it that none of this was Greg's fault. He just needed somebody to blame and for some reason everyone except Miguel Sanchez seemed fair game in his mind. "I left him alone with the suspect Warrick. Brass and I were right there, watching, but we didn't stay close enough to back him up. Damn it, why didn't I let Brass go over there? Why'd I insist Greg do the damn interview?"

"Because you respect that he knows what he's doing, and he does. No one could have known this was going to happen. Come on, we'll find him Nick, he'll be fine. Now let's follow Brass and do our jobs," Warrick suggested. "Then you can brood on your own time, after we get Greg back."

Nick sighed deeply then nodded, knowing his regret was not helping them get Greg home any faster, "Yeah, all right, let's go."

They got in the car and followed the rest of the police squadron and hoped Greg would be wherever they ended up.

* * *

"Go left."

Greg didn't bother asking where they were going. He knew he wouldn't get an answer and he couldn't spare the concentration. Gritting his teeth he shifted the car clumsily into second gear with his right hand. He had tried to use his left for awhile but found he needed it to steer when he had almost made them swerve off the road earlier, which hadn't made Miguel too happy. Turn completed he tried to shift back into first gear and the car jerked at his choppy movements as his arm protested painfully.

"Hey, you _trying _to draw attention to us?" Miguel accused, not amused by Greg's increasingly inept driving.

"No. Look if you're going to insist I drive you're gonna have to shift, I can't do it anymore, I can barely grip it," Greg explained. The bullet in his arm didn't just hurt like hell it made it hard to flex and grip anything with his hand and he thought it might go completely numb soon.

"You were fine in my car," Miguel reminded him.

"Well my arm didn't hurt as bad then and your clutch didn't stick in second gear," Greg countered, his voice teetering on angry. Even though Miguel had attacked him at Anna's he was somehow growing less afraid of his kidnapper the longer he was in the car, and instead was more frustrated and angry about being held against his will and having to use his throbbing arm to drive.

But Miguel ignored his attitude and actually smiled somewhat fondly as he casually shifted the clutch as Greg turned another corner, "Yeah, Anna never did take care of this thing."

The car drove smoother now and Greg relaxed a little and focussed more on the road and every now and then stole a glimpse of Miguel's gun, which thankfully was no longer pointed at him but sat clutched in his lap.

"It uh seemed like she cared about you a lot, from what I heard," Greg commented suddenly, licking his lips with nervousness. He had only been required to take a very basic test of police procedures when he became a CSI, but he did know that making yourself seem more human and attached to a kidnapper was a good way of keeping yourself alive, and Greg figured it couldn't hurt to try. Before the shooting had started he had been close to getting Miguel to open up to him, and he hoped he might be able to do so again.

"Yeah well, it doesn't matter now," Miguel said softly, turning to stare out the window.

It hadn't exactly been the conversation opener Greg was hoping for, but Miguel at least seemed less hostile now, more relaxed as they continued driving and still hadn't met a single police car, and Greg decided to risk saying more.

"Look there's, there's really not much point in you doing this, is there? I mean, I don't know where you're going or what you've actually done, you could just let me go, be on your way. Then I wouldn't be slowing you down," Greg offered hopefully but Miguel's expression didn't change.

He continued to look out the window as he replied flatly, "You're not going anywhere so you might as well drop it."

Greg's jaw tensed and he gripped the wheel tighter, his anger building over his fear, "What possible reason could you have to keep me around, other than a death wish?"

"Insurance," Miguel replied simply and Greg sighed. He hadn't wanted to hear that. Obviously Miguel believed if the police found him or tried to take him in he could use Greg as collateral to gain his freedom. For some reason people thought cops would do anything if a hostage was in danger, but Greg knew that the police never just let anyone get away with things like that, there was always a catch. And that catch usually involved the kidnapper, hostage or both being killed in the process if the situation wasn't handled just right, and Miguel didn't seem like the smooth, collected type that could handle a situation just right to him.

"That still may not be the best idea overall," Greg added hesitantly a moment later.

"Oh, and why not?" Miguel questioned, sounding offended but also curious to hear Greg's insights.

"Well, right now every cop in the city is looking for you, like _every_ one, but if you let me go then you're just a suspect on the loose, another one who got away. The search wouldn't be half as intense," Greg explained what was basically true. They would still work to catch Miguel if he let Greg go but the hunt wouldn't be nearly as well coordinated if there were no lives in immediate danger.

"Yeah, like they're just gonna forgive and forget that I kidnapped a cop as long as I let him go later," Miguel scoffed, believing the police would be on him just as hard no matter what after what he did.

Greg sighed and repeated for what seemed the millionth time, "I'm not a cop."

"You keep saying that!" Miguel yelled, fed up. "Who are you trying to fool? What, your friends back there were just pretending to be police? You just wear a badge for kicks? Come on, you think I'm an idiot?"

"If you bothered to read my badge you'd see it says Crime Scene Investigator, not police investigator," Greg pointed out. "And you might want to put us in first gear."

Miguel complied, having forgotten about the clutch, but also shrugged, "So what's the difference?"

"CSIs just process and interpret the evidence. We find hairs and DNA and fingerprints at crime scenes, stuff like that. We don't actually arrest anyone or patrol the streets, we're just geeks in a lab. In fact, I'm not even armed, which you would know if you'd bothered to search me when this whole thing started," Greg said snidely, kind of wishing he had taken a gun like Nick suggested since Miguel had never checked him for one. He could be home right now if he had.

Miguel was suddenly chagrined, realizing he never had searched Greg, which hadn't been the smartest move if he did think he was a cop, but he laughed and tried to shrug off his embarrassment, "If you were packing I would have been able to tell. Besides, you would have pulled your piece when those crips started shooting at us."

"Whatever," Greg mumbled.

Miguel had done enough talking as well.

"Turn right here," he instructed, but then turned on the radio to fill the silence. Greg's eyes widened in surprised when he heard his favorite Blackflag song playing. He waited for it to be cut off but turning he saw Miguel lean back, obviously having picked the station on purpose because he liked the music.

Greg tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat and then laughed ironically.

Miguel turned to him, "What's so funny now?"

"Nothing, it's just this is the first car I've been in all day with music that doesn't twang. It's a nice change, everyone I know seems to listen to country," Greg explained.

Miguel cringed with sympathy, "Gross."

"Tell me about it."

There was silence until the song was over and then Greg spoke again, feeling that they were talking openly enough for him to maybe get some answers now.

"So, where are we going?"

"You'll see when we get there," Miguel replied but his tone was no longer cold, just evasive.

Silence again as the music played, then Greg became hopeful as Miguel was the next to speak.

"How's your arm?"

Greg was so surprised by the question he didn't respond for a moment, "Uh fine, I guess, you know, considering."

"Considering there's a huge ass bullet in it?" Miguel finished for him.

"Yeah, considering that," Greg replied, smiling faintly.

The car jerked then as Miguel shifted the clutch unexpectedly.

"Whoa, go back to first," Greg requested, feeling the car lurch.

"Nah, slow down, you're turning left, we're there," Miguel explained.

Greg did as instructed and saw they were pulling into a very cheap, rundown hotel. Flashbacks of the two bodies at the Morada suddenly came to Greg's mind and in an instant he was scared again and less than confident that his bonding experiment with Miguel had been entirely successful.

"Around the back," Miguel ordered as Greg looked for a parking spot, making it seem obvious that he should pick the place least likely to be spotted from the road.

"Sorry," Greg mumbled, shaky again as he went around the back of the building.

Once Greg shifted the car into park and removed the keys there was another moment of silence, this one terribly nerve-wracking as Greg imagined what his fate would be and Miguel tried to decide as well. It was now early morning, cars were on the street and people were on their way to work. Looking Greg over, he clearly wasn't presentable. There was a bruise forming around his right eye from when Miguel tackled him, his clothes were dirty and ruffled and his shirt and arm were covered in blood, despite Anna's bandage. Even if he could be cleaned up Miguel couldn't trust Greg not to try and signal for help anyway.

As Greg waited he closed in on himself a little, clutching his bleeding arm again to try and elevate it and ease the pain. He also bit his lip, hating the silence now between them that seemed to destroy any progress Greg had been making to get Miguel to trust him. Chancing to look over, Greg saw Miguel was looking out the side window, obviously deep in thought but also clutching the gun tightly once more.

Greg cleared his throat, unable to take the suspense, "So uh, what now?"

Miguel answered by swinging around faster than Greg could have imagined and striking the CSI across the temple with the butt of the gun.

"Ah," Greg's head snapped back and struck the window, then he was unconscious and his body slumped forward, never really knowing what had happened.

Miguel sighed, hid the gun beneath his shirt and began to work.

TBC

And this time when I say 'to be continued', hopefully it won't take me two months to update again. I really must apologize to all of you, I knew I had not updated in awhile but I had NO idea it had been two whole months, I'm so sorry. I will try to have more written soon. That's not to say that you haven't all been inspiring me with your great reviews. Let's list a few shall we?

Suspension – I agree, more Greg drama on the show would be nice, something with him in danger, but for the moment I'm just happy they're making him funny again. He's been brooding depressing Greg for too long, I loved seeing him joking and smiling in the psychic episode. But I appreciate your kind words, I do put a lot of thought into my storylines and it's great to know it's appreciated.

Skysong2293 – I will take cyber versions of all of the above, plus some strawberry. But I'm afraid I'm not deserving of very much, this update has taken forever, I'm so sorry.

Hyperactive Forever – "how does he get himself into these messes?" Indeed, I actually find it quite difficult to find legitimate ways of injuring him, this plot was complicated as all hell in my head, but the H/C is worth it, as you said.

Lol – Yeah, I like when Greg runs too, I just thought he'd take any opportunity, and it's an opportunity for me to injure him some more, so huzzah! Thanks for reading the descriptions, I'm always worried people scroll over them and go straight for the dialogue.

Psychotic little ani – Thank you, I don't think I've ever been called refined, it's very nice. But no, I haven't really ever thought of publishing. I've tried to write a few original stories but I find that if my characters aren't from one of my fandoms I just don't care about them, even if I do create them myself. It's quite a conundrum actually.

Tsukasaru – lol, I don't think it would really work as an episode, but thank you for the compliment. Besides, it's kind of already been done with the epi where Catherine goes with the guy who is pretending his girlfriend was kidnapped, although that didn't actually inspire this fic.

HelenLouise – As much as you say you are blown away by my chapters, I am equally amazed by your reviews! You look so deep into my stuff and interpret it all and you get EXACTLY what I'm trying to say and portray with all my characters and plot. I work so hard at believability and natural dialogue and you really get that and enjoy it and that means SOOO much, so thank you, as always for a great review and for looking so deeply into my work, it means the world to me.

Vanagristiel – Yes, that is going to be my new motto – "Hurting Greg, with style" – I love it! I liked Greg running too. I didn't want him to be just frozen in place with fear, but he wasn't too brave either, just taking his opportunities and making a run. Thanks for the review.

Iris early – I'm glad you're sympathetic to Miguel, I don't want him to be another vague, evil for the sake of being evil kind of bad guy. You should definitely put up some of your stuff though, there's absolutely nothing wrong with editing. When I'm working on a chapter for posting I go over it and over it until I can read through it once without changing anything, only then do I consider it ready for posting.

Remoob1513 – Yes, Greg is getting left on his own a little in this fic and though I agree he's kind of in charge, that's kind of all about to change.

Utemia – wow, that was a crazy interesting review. I never really thought about integration in other countries and how North America is so integrated, you have a really interesting point of view, thanks so much for sharing all that.

Aries Zodiac – I agree. I'd like to point out that I don't condone that kind of language and NEVER use it, but I honestly really thought my character would say that, especially in a panicked moment so I kept it in, but I did have a warning and boosted the rating so I hope it's tolerable and that's the only time I'll be doing it. And you made total sense, I know exactly what you mean.

Krazy – Well I feel you've done plenty for Greg fanfic and I bet many others would agree. As for your other fandoms I'm willing to bet you're a Christopher Gorham fan since you like Odyssey 5 and medical investigation. Odyssey five really was a sweet show, if only it had the ratings, it was beautiful. And of course I love Supernatural and Stargate. As for Miguel's girlfriend, her fate is pretty much sealed with this chapter, but Miguel and Greg are still very much on the run.

Emmithar – First of all, I love that you are actually dissecting and interpreting my fic and characters, that is awesome of you. I truly have the best readers, so thanks for taking the time and caring enough to wonder and analyze. Secondly, I thought Anna was in character. She may have been sympathetic to Greg but I didn't think she'd be willing to fight Miguel over him. I think this chapter really showed how far she was willing to go for him and there was a limit. As for Miguel keeping Greg around, I admit, I had trouble justifying that in my own head when working out the plot, but I figure one, he's following orders from his mysterious phone call, and two, as he said, insurance, so I feel safe in my plot. And third, that blood trail bit was hilarious, I think it's a lovely idea but Miguel just might catch on. Thanks so much for the great review!

Honey Dipped Roses – talking Supernatural is never rambling, and you'll never find a writer who thinks a review is too long. And man, did you ever pick a great episode to watch as your first one. I LOVED Asylum. Every time I watch it and Dean gets shot I just melt a little inside. But I also really love Skin, Bloody Mary and Faith, those are my top three. I'm actually working on another, multi-chapter Supernatural fic in my spare time called Strength. I haven't posted anything yet because I'm worried about not finishing, but after this fic it is very likely I will finish it, so watch for it. And thanks for all the kind words about my writing, it is appreciated so very much. To say I'm the best is to go too far, but I really take the praise to heart, thank you.

Shacky – all that great stuff you do everyday with your kids and husband and my fic is what you look forward to, that's awesome, thank you, makes me feel truly special. A laptop! Too cool, I've still got a crap PC, sooo jealous! Thanks for your commitment, as always.

Many thanks also to Tiarich, dybdahl, Queen of Cliffies, TheOneBlueGecko, mookle uzimake, Constance Sanders, lilian, greeneyes, angw, sillie, neeners, Queen of the Elven City, karmine, Red Tigress, and CSIwildchild. Your reviews all inspire me and I'm sorry I don't have time to respond to you all.

There will be more generally soon, hope you're all still enjoying. Goody.


	5. Holiday Resort

Been awhile again. Sorry.

Miles in His Shoes

By Goody

Brass was so frustrated he almost growled as he punched the phone number into his cell. Pacing in front of the squad car, which was surrounded by more squad cars, he listened to the phone ring on the other end and hoped that they were just in the wrong place.

An answer.

"Hello."

"Hey, is this Lou Thomas, Carlos Sanchez's parole officer?" Brass asked unable to keep the angry lilt out of his voice. All around him officers and two rundown CSIs waited for the outcome of this phone call, waited to be spurred into action, because if there was one thing cops hated, it was waiting.

"Yeah, who's this?" the gruff voice on the other end demanded.

"This is detective Brass, we're investigating a hostage situation and a double murder and need a current address on Carlos Sanchez," Brass explained, at least being professional through his frustrated fear.

"Ah shit, all right, just a second."

Brass could hear Thomas shuffling through papers but he must have been holding the phone between his shoulder and ear because he asked.

"Carlos only got out a month ago, didn't think he'd want to get into this shit again so quickly. Who'd he kidnap?"

"Nobody, his brother did, a CSI, we're trying to track down places he might go," Brass answered.

"Oh, here, 75 Richmond," Thomas read off a sheet.

Brass's eyes closed and he sighed, "That the only address you got?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because I'm standing in front of 75 Richmond with about twenty other cops and there's nothing here except a house that clearly hasn't been lived in since disco was in style. So what, you've discovered a new way to keep track of your parolees without ever visiting them?" Brass accused. He had been hoping the parole officer would have a different address for Carlos than the one they had in their records, but apparently no such luck.

"Hey, I've got over thirty ex-cons under my watch, and I can't visit them all everyday. Sanchez has been out less than a month, I'm supposed to see him every thirty days, there's not much I can do if he decides to give me a false address," Thomas defended himself, but Brass was in no mood to hear it and said just one thing before he hung up.

"Yeah sure, you keep telling yourself that when our CSI shows up dead."

Mentally reminding himself to get Internal Affairs to check out Thomas's parole officer abilities Brass turned around to see two wide-eyed CSIs behind him, clearly disturbed by what he had just said.

"Shit. Sorry guys, I didn't mean that," he told Nick and Warrick. "I know we'll find him, it's just this guy has no idea where his parolee is. I hate slack PO's."

Nick slumped and spread his palms over the hood of Brass's car, trying to will an idea to come to him, but the car's hood offered nothing.

"So, what do we do now?" he asked, seeming to have completely deflated of hope since they had found that not only was Miguel Sanchez not staying at his brother's, but his brother was not even there to be questioned.

"Go talk to the girl again?" Warrick suggested.

"Nah, she doesn't know anything," Brass said, certain that Anna had told them everything she knew to avoid jail time. "And Miguel doesn't have any other known family members in the city."

"And Carlos isn't picking up from that cell number Anna gave us," Warrick added. "Archie's gonna stay on it though."

Brass had been listening closely to the police scanner as well and reported, "No hits on the APB on Anna's car yet either."

Nick stood up, but still appeared slumped, "So, less than one hour into an investigation and we're out of leads. Well that's always a good sign. At this rate we should find Greg in time for Christmas."

Along with his sarcasm he put both his hands behind his head, as if trying to keep his brain from exploding, and turned to pace away, as if turning his back on the entire situation and that pissed Brass off to no end.

"Hey Nick, I was there too you know, I saw it all go down just like you. If you've got nothing to contribute and want to bitch and moan about everything then go home and do it on your own time, but while you're here you're gonna keep your head straight, get your act together and come up with something productive, or else I'll send you home myself. You want to find Greg, smarten up and do it!"

Brass was in no mood for any bullshit but it did pull Nick out of his stupor.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he said, hands falling to his side. "All right well, where's the rest of the team? They should all be here workin' this."

"Cath and Sara are still in Loughlin. They're headed in but it's a long drive," Warrick replied. "Grissom came in though, he stayed at the first scene to process Miguel's apartment, see if there's anything that might tell him where he is."

"See, you don't wait for leads, you make your own. Why don't you two go help him until we find something else to follow," Brass suggested, trying to keep them both busy and their minds occupied during what he knew was a difficult time.

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Come on Nicky, let's get out of here, there has to be something at Miguel's place."

Nick was tempted to be pessimistic once more and point out that Greg wouldn't be there, but Brass had made a good point that that attitude wasn't getting him anywhere, so he just nodded, "Sure, let's go."

Even if he tried to be positive he couldn't deny that they were no closer to finding Greg and in fact were probably getting further away with each second.

* * *

His neck hurt.

That was the first thing Greg noticed when he woke up. Even before opening his eyes he could tell his neck was being strained somehow. All his joints were incredibly stiff so he lifted his head slowly as he became aware of the other pains in his body. His back hurt too, it felt like it was beginning to bruise from leaning against something too long and his skull was throbbing from the blow he had received. When he finally got his head up all the way and tried to stretch his agonized body the real pain hit him and he would have screamed if he hadn't been gagged.

His right arm blazed like fire, far worse than before. Looking down he saw it was because his hands were tied behind his back, pulling awkwardly on the open wound, which was still bleeding and had completely soaked the bandage Anna had given him.

Taking a moment he concentrated on his breathing and trying to ride out the pain as he closed his eyes and tried to get enough air through just his nose. It was a few minutes before he opened them again and actually cared enough to try to figure out where he was.

It looked like a hotel room. The curtains were pulled but there was still enough light for Greg to see a bed, table and television. Craning his sore neck around he saw he had been tied to a radiator. Miguel must have been short on rope, Greg thought, because his wrists were tied together with duct tape around the pipe leading into the wall. He pulled to try and loosen them but groaned loudly and gave up quickly when tears began to sting his eyes from the pain it caused in his arm. Besides, Miguel may have been short on supplies but he hadn't been slack in his work Greg realized as he found that it wasn't just his wrists that were taped but both his hands were wrapped all the way down to the fingertips to ensure he couldn't rip or pull the tape off.

Good old duct tape, for the kidnapper on the go, Greg mused in his head as he continued to survey the room. He was sitting on the floor next to a closet with the door to the bathroom not too far away. On the bedside table he spotted a phone and almost dared to hope, but it was much too far for him to reach.

He didn't see or hear Miguel and wondered where he was. Greg wanted to believe that Miguel had left him here to be discovered later while he made a getaway, but the CSI was also realistic enough to know that he didn't have that kind of luck. Either way, he wasn't about to waste this opportunity and if he didn't have a phone he would just get help the old fashioned way. He would yell.

There was duct tape on his mouth but that wasn't impossible to remove. He brought up his knees and tried to work the edge of the tape off. If he could lift a corner then he could probably pull the rest off with his knees.

He had barely gotten started though when he heard footsteps outside followed by the jingling of a key. Holding his breath, he watched as the lock clicked open and Miguel walked in with a convenience store bag. He looked behind him to make sure no one was watching him then double checked the door lock before he finally turned to Greg.

Miguel's eyes widened when he saw Greg was awake and watching him, then he shifted almost nervously.

Greg watched him closely, feeling a mixture of fear and curiosity as he continued to breathe in short pants as his arm still throbbed horribly. He was frightened of Miguel for the reason that he was prone to random violence as opposed to calculated maliciousness. Almost none of the times he had hit Greg had been planned, in fact his entire kidnapping had been rather spur of the moment and it was Miguel's unpredictability that scared Greg. It was clear that the younger man was grasping onto the barest minimum of a plan at this point and was definitely in over his head, and Greg could only hope that he could continue to handle the stress and not crack under the pressure and do something drastic that they both might regret.

For his part, now that Greg was tied up and he didn't have to worry about watching him, Miguel found himself unsure of what to do with him. He was his hostage, his insurance policy in all of this, but he felt strange just ignoring him and found it impossible to just pretend he wasn't there.

"Hey, you're awake, good, I thought I might have put you in a coma. We're uh gonna be here for awhile, so just sit tight and be quiet," Miguel said finally as he threw his stuff on the bed and took off his shoes. Not facing Greg he tapped his fingers on his leg nervously. Even though he knew he was in charge of everything at this point, he found himself ridiculously wondering what he was supposed to do now. Did he just ignore Greg and leave him tied up? Could he untie him, talk to him?

He really wasn't sure what he'd feel comfortable doing and for the moment he just wanted to pretend that he wasn't in trouble and everything was normal, so he ignored Greg and turned on the television as he opened the sandwich he got at the store. Greg sat quietly, unable to see the TV from where he was, and stared at the floor, trying not to be noticed. It had the opposite effect though as Miguel found it impossible to pretend he wasn't there.

The CSI's arm felt like it had been injected with acid. He was already breathing deeply through his nose, trying to fight the pain with oxygen, but then he shifted and pulled his arm unexpectedly. The pain ran through him like electricity and he bit off a cry as he struggled for more air and tried to keep the tears from rolling out of his eyes.

"Jesus," Miguel mumbled in slight annoyance, hiding his sympathy. Only moments after turning the television on Miguel stood up and walked towards Greg. The CSI shrank away at first, unsure what to make of the movement until Miguel spoke.

"All right, I'm gonna take that tape off, but if you scream or try to yell for help or anything you better believe that the next time I hit you, you won't be waking up."

Greg took the threat quite seriously and nodded in understanding.

"All right then."

Miguel took hold of the edge Greg had been trying to loosen and pulled the tape off in one swift motion.

"Thanks," Greg said, now able to take deeper, calming breaths and perhaps distract himself from the pain in his arm with conversation.

"Yeah, how's your head?" Miguel asked, turning around to rummage through his bag again.

"Well as can be expected I guess," Greg replied timidly. This new position on the floor made him feel constricted and small. Before in the car he had been able to speak to Miguel like a person most of the time, and felt like he had some kind of control. But now that he was tied up, it was very obvious that Miguel was in charge and Greg was at his mercy, causing Greg to lose all his ability at small talk or humor. Instead he was timid with fear, almost submissive as he knew he was totally without options or choice at this point.

When Miguel turned around again Greg saw he was struggling with the safety seal on a bottle of Tylenol Extra Strength.

"How many of these do you want?" Miguel asked suddenly as if it was a completely normal thing to offer. Greg didn't answer and Miguel looked up expectantly.

"I'm not just gonna sit here and listen to you bitch about your poor arm, now how many do you want?" Miguel demanded this time.

"Uh, three I guess," Greg said, looking at the floor. Miguel looked pleased when he answered and tapped three pills out. Greg was reluctant to tip his mouth open to take them, but knew that his body needed the relief so let Miguel feed the pills to him. Miguel also had a bottle of water from the store and gave Greg a drink to wash them down with.

As he turned away Miguel popped two himself and when he saw Greg's inquiring glance said, "Headache."

Greg could understand, although he would bet his was much worse.

"Thanks," Greg mumbled again, feeling oddly grateful. This man was holding him against his will, but he hadn't had to give him the pain relievers. It gave Greg hope about just how sympathetic Miguel's personality was and he found he was almost positive that this man hadn't committed the murders that they had been investigating him for. Miguel seemed like a follower, and this new position as a leader in complete control was obviously very foreign to him as he again shuffled with uncertainty.

"Well, whatever keeps you quiet," Miguel replied, justifying his kindness to keep up the tough mental image he had of himself in his own mind.

Greg saw through this reply but didn't comment. In his head he was going through the weak strategy he had been trying to employ earlier. If he could somehow keep the dialogue between himself and Miguel open he hoped to establish some kind of rapport, maybe even a relationship. That would make it increasingly hard for Miguel to be violent towards him in the future, that is, if Miguel even cared, but Greg had a feeling he did.

As Miguel took a seat on the bed once more and considered turning on the television, Greg took a chance and spoke again.

"So, we're just gonna stay here?" Greg asked as an opener and for sheer curiosity of what was happening.

Miguel looked at him for a moment as he finished chewing a bite of his sandwich before shrugging an answer, "Yeah, for a little while. I paid in cash and used a fake name, so we should be good."

"Great," Greg mumbled sarcastically.

Miguel actually laughed, "I guess that's not what you wanted to hear, is it?"

"Not quite," Greg agreed. On the bed, Miguel sighed and became contemplative.

"Well, this isn't exactly how I planned to spend my day either. You better just get comfortable."

Greg knew what would happen if he tried to do that so just stayed completely still, which was the only thing that made the pain in his arm bearable. He turned in surprise though when it was again Miguel that kept the conversation going.

"So, you collect things at crime scenes huh? Sounds kind of boring, I mean if the crime's already been there and gone," Miguel commented, actually trying to keep Greg talking and trick his mind into forgetting that he was currently running for his life from the cops and a rival gang.

"Well, I wouldn't categorize today under boring," Greg replied offhand.

_Terrifying yes, boring, no._

"I assume today's an exception. I mean, you know, normally," Miguel cleared up.

Greg almost shrugged then thought better of it, "No, not really, it's pretty interesting if you're into science at all, and we get to catch the bad guys."

"You mean like me?" Miguel accused, good mood slightly lessening and causing Greg to swallow noticeably.

"Well uh," Greg stuttered. "Sometimes they get away."

It took a moment for him to decide, but eventually Miguel laughed at that, amused by Greg's survival instinct that told him to tell Miguel what he wanted to hear.

"Yeah, sure they do," he mumbled, not convinced at all but still smiling a little as he finished off his food.

Now scared to say the wrong thing again, Greg looked at the floor and didn't respond. That seemed fine to Miguel who was cleaning the garbage off his bed. When he was done Greg saw him take out a wallet and throw it on the nightstand and that's when the CSI noticed his own pockets were very empty.

Miguel noticed Greg eyeing the wallet and almost looked apologetic, "Oh, I needed some cash to pay for the room."

"Well, just try not to max out my credit cards," Greg joked weakly in response, far too nervous to be angry Miguel had stolen from him. "I just got a paycut."

"Oh, I'm really sorry to hear that," Miguel replied sarcastically, no longer showing any signs of sympathy. The wallet had landed open though and as Miguel studied Greg's ID for a moment his eyes widened. "This a fake or something? It says you're almost thirty."

"So?"

"So you look like you're my age. Man, you must get carded all the time," Miguel commented.

Greg again remembered not to shrug and his arm thanked him for it.

"Guess I just have good genes," he said, even though he knew first hand that his DNA didn't look all that different from any one else's, and he had checked it out personally.

"Annoying genes if you ask me, I hate being asked for ID," Miguel continued as he opened a drawer in the bedside table. The entire conversation suddenly took on a surreal mood as Miguel pulled out a roll of duct tape and tore a strip off even as he seemed to be waiting for Greg to say something in response.

Greg was silent as he watched Miguel take a step closer and pulled his head away when the tape came near his mouth.

"Hold still."

"What are you doing?" Greg demanded, nervous fear peaking again.

"I haven't slept in over a day, I'm going to bed and you've gotta be quiet," Miguel explained and was surprised when Greg moved his head to avoid the tape again.

"Please don't," he requested, knowing of at least three cases on the top of his head of people suffocating from a simple piece of duct tape, much like that one. "I'll be quiet, I promise. Please, it's hard to breathe that way, I'll probably just make even more noise. It's not like I'm going to yell out for help with you right there either."

Miguel considered this for a moment and it seemed to make sense to him.

"Fine," he said, and Greg breathed a sigh of relief. But as the tape moved away from his mouth Miguel suddenly brought it up a few inches higher and slapped it over Greg's eyes instead. Greg tried to pull away but the tape stuck immediately and suddenly he could only see darkness.

"Wh … why … what's the point …?" Greg obviously didn't understand but Miguel was quick to supply an answer.

"I can't sleep if you're watching me, that's just weird," he said, and suddenly it was the most logical thing in the world. Oddly enough, at first this seemed a little immature to Greg, which made him remember how young Miguel really was. He was pretty much a junior gang member, who probably saw too much or had not handled his first big criminal act very well, and now was in over his head with the police and his gang rivals, but maybe he was handling things better than Greg had given him credit for. He had been smart enough to switch cars, not go to a relative or friends to stay, pay for the room in cash and park out of sight. Not to mention the fact that Greg had no idea what Miguel had been up to while he had been knocked out. He could have stolen yet another car for all he knew, making it even harder for the police to find him, and Greg had to admit, that as good as he knew the Crime Lab was and how hard they would work to find him, Miguel had not left them a lot of clues to follow.

He heard a click that he thought might be the light being turned off and the bed squeak as Miguel laid down. Greg suddenly found himself wracked not with fear, but despair. He knew he was safe for the time being, but he was also trapped, at the mercy of this panicked criminal in training and, most likely, on his own. Though Greg was usually a pretty confident guy, he wasn't sure if he could handle this on his own and the hopelessness of his current situation tore at his heart.

Suddenly he was exhausted. There was finally no imminent danger to his life to worry about and he remembered that he also hadn't slept in almost a day.

Tilting his head back to lean against the wall, he tried to relax. The Tylenol was starting to help against the pain and he knew he could use some rest. When he finally managed to drift off, he prayed that when he woke up he would find that this was all just a horrible dream caused by too many late-night video game sessions.

Yeah right.

* * *

Searching … please wait.

Searching … please wait.

Searching … please wait.

Nick leaned his head back and sighed, frustrated by the computer's unintentional mockery of his life over the last few hours. Ever since Greg had been taken away in Harcant Nick had done nothing except search, and wait, and now the computer was throwing it back in his face.

One search finished and he opened up the results, dismayed to find the phone number was that of a family owned pizza parlor. No help there.

He typed in the next number and glared at the inevitable message on the screen.

Searching … please wait.

When he had been given this task an hour ago he had at first been enthused just to have a job to do, but he was getting absolutely nowhere and wondered how everyone else was doing.

He remembered when himself, Warrick and Grissom had arrived back at the lab after finding absolutely nothing of use at Miguel's apartment. There had been no black book, no computer of addresses or friends, no post-it notes with scribbled addresses – absolutely nothing to indicate where Miguel might go with Greg. They had returned empty-handed and then had to face the barely composed Catherine and Sara who both demanded tasks to do to help find Greg. The only problem was, they had no leads. They had no known relatives or friends of Miguel or Carlos Sanchez, neither of them owned a credit card to track down and though Carlos had a phone, it did not have tracking abilities. Their options were limited to the phone records that had finally arrived per Archie's request several hours earlier. Nick and Warrick had split up all the calls made and received on Carlos's cell phone in the last month while Catherine and Sara had split up the list from Miguel's home phone. Grissom had left himself free to look into any new leads that would hopefully show up soon and the rest of the team had set to work, inputting phone numbers into the system and seeing who they belonged to, then checking if they could have any relevance to the case.

So far Nick had been working an hour and had found nothing, and the complete lack of his pager beeping told him that the rest of the team had also found nothing of relevance and they were no closer to finding Greg. Nick looked at his watch. Five hours. Greg had been gone for five hours and it was as if he and Miguel Sanchez had just dropped off the planet.

Nick always hated when cases hit a dead end, but he was finding it almost impossible to bear the idea of waiting this one out and hoping the big lead would just come to them. Because waiting usually led to finding a body in the desert. The image of Greg buried in the sand, lifeless eyes staring up at him came unbidden to Nick's mind and he rubbed the image out of his corneas.

Work. He wasn't done his work. He just had to focus and hope one of these last few numbers would give them the break they need and lead them to some sort of name or address that would send them in the direction of finding Greg, alive.

Nick typed two more numbers into the search engine but then paused halfway through typing the last one. The number was familiar.

He swore under his breath as he got up from his chair to go find Grissom.

List clutched in his hand, he shook his head as he looked down once more at the last phone call that Carlos Sanchez's cell phone had received.

It was from Greg's cell phone number.

TBC

Okay, so here's the story, or should I say, here's all the story you're getting for awhile. The reason I haven't been updating very frequently is that this story has kind of stopped inspiring me and I've been finding it very difficult to force myself to work on it, so I'm most likely going to put it aside completely very shortly. If I keep going it just won't be my best work and I can't handle that. I'm not saying the story will never be completed, but I've started a different CSI fic that I haven't posted yet and I like it a lot, so after I finish that one, I may come back to this. It's also possible I could work on both at the same time, but unlikely. My brain can only take so much.

So, I'm truly sorry to my faithful readers, I love you all, but I'll probably need awhile to get in a strong enough writing mood to finish this up. So sorry again. But it will be finished someday, hold on to that, and look out for my new fic, tentatively called Moving In and Moving On.

Take care, Goody.


End file.
